Dark and Twisty
by JeSuisPlusQueRien
Summary: TR/HP SLASH When Hadrian Potter completed the ritual intended to make him his best self, he never wanted a soul bond, and he certainly didn't wish to be pursued by the Minister of the British Wizarding World. He rolls with it; it's a game of cat and mouse, but the cat and mouse quickly forget who's who. REUPLOADED AFTER MY MENTAL BREAKDOWN... sorry about that.
1. A Worthy Cause

**The following story is SLASH, meaning a relationship between two MALE characters. It also has a significant age gap of 21 years. Harry (Hadrian) is seventeen is this story, and while the age of consent in Britain is 16, those in position of authority (for example - teachers) are not allowed to engage in sexual relations with minors. So there is a slight legality here; however, you're on . **

**OTHER WARNINGS INCLUDE: Explicit languages and situations, possibly gore, and a probably not "healthy" relationship between two wizards, though there will be **_**no**_ **trace of non-con in this story.**

**And for all you other lovelies—welcome to my attempt at doing a Tom/Harry story justice. **

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 1 - _A Worthy Cause_

Hadrian wakes to stone cold underneath his fingertips, chilling through his thin ritual robes. His blood flakes from his back. The robes stick to odd places, ripping at skin as he struggles to his feet.

He kicks the salt circle open and fresh air floods into the space, diluting the heavy scent of fish and ash. Hadrian breathes deeply. Closes his eyes. Opens them.

Three corpses are strewn in a triangle inside the circle. A snowy-white owl, feathers gleaming in the torch light, its throat cleanly slit. A long rainbow fish, the magic of which is said to keep it alive for hundreds of years. A thestral, only to be destroyed by hate-filled dark curses. Easy things to kill, even the thestral didn't put up much of a fight.

Hadrian stretches, bones clicking. Sharpened eyesight flickers around the room. The first time he did a ritual the sight of blood made him wretch for days. Now Hadrian walks past the dead with naught a glance. They're only animals, after all.

_Did it work?_

A yew wand twists around his fingers. Hadrian points at the bird carcass—she's dead, there's nothing that can hurt her anymore—and whispers "_bombarda_."

White feathers explode across the room, guts ricocheting around the room like bullets. Was this a worthy cause?

"I want the Slytherin Common Room." Hadrian says, voice strong and confident.

The room widens, everything but Hadrian morphing into a perfect approximation of the aristocratic, green and silver common area.

Hadrian surveys the room one more time. Pulls out a blank parchment. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

Locations spill across the parchment in snakes of ink. Severus Snape's icon hovers in his office. A pair of fifth-year Ravenclaws are still in the prefect bathroom, most likely no longer on duty.

The invisibility cloak forms to him like a skin. Hadrian casts a noiseless spell and a light disillusionment. One can never be too careful.

Hadrian sneaks through the castle, map open underneath the cloak and wand at the ready.

A flush of _hot_, thick and coiling in his belly.

Hadrian trips over nothing, hands catching him on the dusty stone floor. Something foreign gathers inside. Hadrian grits his teeth and pulls his knees to his chest, tucking the cloak around his spasming body.

He wants to _kill_. If Ronald Weasley happened around the corner Hadrian would use the bone splintering curse, a cast for every bone in the human body.

Hadrian is enraged. He won't be able to fight it any longer—the anger fades faster than one can scream.

He gets to his feet. This is the third ritual he's used from Moste Evil. The author is a fucking idiot. If Hadrian ever writes a spell book, he sure as hell is going to record possible side effects.

A white feather clings to his invisibility cloak. Hadrian plucks it, holding the feather for just a second too long before blowing, softness turning to dust.

Was it a worthy cause?

He stops in front of the Slytherin Common Room wall. His hands shake.

"Basilisk." Hadrian whispers. The wall creaks open.

Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass sit side by side on a velvety green couch. Three textbooks are open on the coffee table, but neither seem to be using them.

Hadrian stops. Cocks his head to the side.

The two whisper to each other, their conversation under a heavy muffliato. It's well-known that Draco and Daphne are engaged to be married right out of school. It will be good for both their families.

Draco sweats an unusual amount, the stress kind that fills a room like Muggle tear gas. He's not usually this nervous, and it could be anything from a sexuality crisis to attempting murder.

But Hadrian has to be sure. Whispers are dangerous things. Hadrian forms a set of air runes with his wand, mouthing the words but keeping them inaudible. Spells like muffliato can be broken if you're powerful enough.

Hadrian is always powerful enough.

A bubble of light blue fades in and out of view. Draco and Daphne are too far into conversation to notice. The bubble stretches, taking Hadrian in like the protective arm of a mother.

"You can take as many lovers as you want. I only want you to keep your head on tight and make sure you use the proper discretion."

Draco swallows. Ever since Draco became of age he's stopped slicking his hair back. The messy blond look does well for him, locks of platinum sweeping the tops of his high cheekbones. "Daphne. We're going to live a lie for our entire lives."

She scoffs. "As it's been done a million times before. Get a grip on yourself."

Hadrian steps out of the muffliato and sneaks up the stairs. He can never be more thankful for being in Slytherin. Hadrian unlocks his door with a set of three charms. This has been his room for the last seven years, and it's always such a disappointment to go home.

He pulls open the velvety curtains and quickly changes into nightclothes. Untucks the bedsheet, pulled tight every morning. No house elf has been in his room since second year.

A warming spell clings tightly to the goose feather duvet. Hadrian locks the door with a complicated set of charms. You never know what stupid student might try to sneak in, for revenge or other reasons unknown.

Hadrian gasps. Another roll of emotion clings to his body. Passion, an incredible drive, and _want_ roll into one, with a bittersweet taste left in his mouth. He's always been good at controlling himself, but to this he's helpless and squirming.

As if sucked away by a Muggle hoover, the feeling spins away.

Hadrian stares up at the ceiling. Slowly relaxes every bit of his body.

Hopefully the side effects don't last long, but whatever this is, the ritual was worth it. Hadrian's magic calls much easier to his fingers.

A deep emerald green swirls patterns above his bed, glimmering like malicious pixie dust, controlled by a simple wave of Hadrian's finger. His raw magic has always been the colour of an Avada Kedavra curse.

It's dark and comforting. Hadrian spins magic until he can't keep his eyes open.

He sleeps.

o0o0o0o

There are only a handful of Ravenclaws and Slytherins awake a 7 o'clock on a weekend morning. Hadrian ignores all of them, and they do the same to him. Sunday breakfasts are a time of peace, where he can cut his fruit in equal pieces without Blaise snickering and butter his bread evenly without anyone complaining about him using the knife too long.

Hadrian eats methodically, and no one bothers him when he's done. Nobody makes eye contact on the way to the library either. There's only been one more attack since last night, one so filled with anger Hadrian had trembled and brooded for half an hour.

It's not _Hadrian_ that's being weak. These are not his emotions. They will wear off soon.

"Morning Hadrian." Hermione utters. Her unruly curls have been tamed back into a high-ponytail. She's halfway through a tome larger than her head.

"Have the birds managed two-winged flight?" He plunks _Defending Against Magical Creatures_ onto the desk and attempts to keep from wrinkling his nose at it. Hadrian bought it new, but it has smelled like Montgomery since the first class, peppermint, basil, and sauerkraut.

"They flop around like chickens for a couple of seconds and then fall."

Hadrian gives her a smirk. "I'm sure you'll get it eventually."

"Hardy har har, _cousin_." She fingers her white and green striped tie.

He gives an inconsequential wave of his hand. The majority of Hogwarts students would see it as gesturing - a handful would recognize a wandless muffliato.

"You've been waiting ages to show that one off to me, haven't you?" She raises an eyebrow.

"No."

Hermione tucks an unruly curl behind her ear and gives her best innocent look. "No what?"

"No, I am not attending Sirius and Regulus' Yule party."

"Sirius is going to whine for weeks."

"And how is that my problem? I'm not getting involved in the Potter-Black feud."

She rolls her eyes. "You're half the reason it started."

Hadrian looks her up and down, and his wand spits out of the holster around his arm. "I dare you to say that again."

Hermione looks up at him. Closes her book and sticks it in her bag. "Please Hadrian, at least consider it?"

"When fucking pigs fly."

She smiles. "I'll see you in Charms."

Hadrian keeps his sneer to a minimum amd turns to the relevant page in his textbook. The class is covering vampires, werewolves, and fae this Monday, and he needs to know all the shit Professor Montgomery wants them to spout.

An hour of study later and Hadrian is about ready to throw the book at the wall. It's all passive aggressive words and outdated as fuck. The laws passed in the last 5 years make over half the information discriminatory. How the fuck did it get published, never mind approved for the curriculum?

Wings beat against the air, the smell of soot-covered feathers defiling Hadrian's nose. He turns. A giant brown owl flaps into the library, zigging and zagging like it's attempting to ski through the air.

Sherman cannonballs into the table and makes the most pathetic noise known to creature. Hadrian rolls his eyes. Waits for his father's owl to stick out his leg.

The letter is typical James Potter, an expensive envelope abused shut around thick parchment.

_Son, _

_I hope your seventh-year is going well. _

_Your mother and I have agreed to disagree. We're going to the Yule Party on the 24th. Sirius sent both our invitations in the mail. _

_I'll see you on the 17th for the start of Christmas Hols. We'll have to get you fitted for nice dress robes, the last time was third year, yeah? _

_Sincerely,_

_Your Father. _

Hadrian taps his chin, crumbling the paper in his fist. He could refuse - he's aged out this summer, but then Dad will throw a fit, and Mum will create tension-filled silences that last for hours. You can never be quite sure which side Lily will take in a fight, so she ends up ignoring both sides until they get their shit together.

Only one more holiday break. One more year of school and Hadrian can leave. It's not like they really want him around, anyway. His parents like holding onto ideas. The idea of the perfect half blood heir, raised in both worlds but perfectly well-adjusted.

Hadrian _should_ be entrenched in light philosophy and surrounded by the bigots with well-mastered patronizing smiles.


	2. Retribution on Both Sides

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 2 - _Retribution on Both Sides_

Hadrian screams himself awake. He swings his feet to meet stone-cold floor and begins to pace. His nightshirt plasters against his body. How long did he spend in that dream sweating and screaming?

His rune-marked doorway comforts. Its latent magic forms a perfect rectangle, identical to the one at the window. No sound can get out, no intruder can get in.

His room has been protected by runes since third year.

"Fuck." Hadrian's head hits the wall.

It was the worst attack yet, with anxiety and anger tangled together into a yowling nightmare.

He paces back and forth, running has hands along his well-locked trunk, fingering the experiments and ideas pasted against the wall opposite his bed.

None of his "dark" experiments are anywhere as obvious, but Hadrian calms down as he examines his successes and failures across the many pieces of parchment.

Around an hour passes before Hadrian is recovered enough to go back to bed. His mind loves to race, stomach twisting with aftershocks. It's not that he's never felt these things before, and yet… these emotions are foreign, tinged by burnt caramel and salt.

A restless slumber finally overtakes.

Hadrian's alarm wakes him at eight. He groans and hurries to get dressed. It's Monday, which means Montgomery's class is first thing, and Hadrian is anything but excited.

"Rough night there, Potter?" Draco asks, deftly sliding a knife under the skin of a pear.

The wizard in question seats himself across from Draco, who's sandwiched by his fiancée and Blaise Zabini.

"Since when are my sleeping habits of any consequence to you?" He says with a tone of finality, giving the Malfoy heir his best look of judgement.

Daphne purses her lips. "He was simply being friendly."

Hadrian takes his eyes off the group and places a couple pieces of orange on his plate along with two sausages. He arranges them a centimeter apart.

An army of flapping approaches. Hadrian wrinkles his nose.

"Draco, it's one week 'til winter hols." Blaise crosses his arms, sitting back in his seat.

Draco gives Blaise a one-second look from under his lashes. "It's not my fault Mother wants to show love to her amazing son."

Malfoy's owl swoops down with the large package, gracefully landing in Draco's lap.

"And what is it this time?"

Draco flicks his wand at the package and whispers a spell. "This sweater I saw when we were going shopping at Diagon Alley this summer."

"She just loves to spoil you." Daphne says sharply. She turns back to Pansy and continues their conversation.

"Fuck." Blaise bites his lip. "All this attention, your head must be getting so big." He puts his hand on Draco's shoulder for just a second too long.

Their glances grow heated.

Does Draco's mother truly care about him, or is it a power move? Show that my son's the wealthiest, the most loved heir in all the land. Does it mean anything more to Draco either way?

It's been almost ten years since the incident, but Hadrian can still close his eyes and remember what is was like to be hugged and coddled and accepted simply because you're someone's blood and flesh.

But that's a fool's dream. He pushes it away, raising his Occlumency shields high. His childhood should be kept locked behind a wall of rose bushes like the bittersweet thing it is.

Don't be a fucking idiot.

"We've got Defensive Magic in five minutes, _Potter_. Get your fucking head out of the clouds." Draco spits. He and Blaise gather up their stuff. Draco turns and wraps an arm around Daphne's waist, and they head to class.

Montgomery stands outside his classroom door like a sentinel, checking his gold pocket watch every two seconds. The man is all sharp and round in the wrong places. He'd be handsome if he didn't look so sour. Apparently mudbloods do that to some people.

"Just in the nick of time, _Potter_." The Professor closes the door.

The seventh-year takes his seat in the back. Hermione pulls her bag off of his seat; gives him a nod and directs her attention to Montgomery.

"I'm sure you've all read the chapter for today?" He says patronizingly, his lips curled. His wand waves, and chalk violently scrapes against the board.

The majority of Slytherins and Ravenclaws nod.

"Glad to hear you're all being very _social _today. Now, raise your hand if you know what to do in a situation with a werewolf."

Hermione calmly raises her hand.

"Yes, Miss Black?"

"What time of the month is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"When you're meeting the werewolf? Because they're only dangerous on the night of the full moon."

He chuckles, looking at her like she's a dog covered in its own dung. "Don't be silly; they're always dangerous. Werewolves are quicker to anger and are stronger than _normal_ wizards, the best thing to do is to steer clear at all costs, while having a stupefy at the ready."

Hermione stares at him blankly and gives him a nod that most would consider sincere. In her seven Hogwarts years she has learned that you can't argue with bigots, especially if they're your teachers. Regulus had her seemingly well-trained from the start, but there were a few hiccoughs.

"No need to feel ashamed, Miss Black, we must simply learn from our mistakes." He smiles slowly, oddly robotic, like he's practicing it in a mirror.

"Excuse me, Professor Montgomery." Blaise is all fake politeness and batted eyes.

"Yes, Mr. _Zabini_?"

The dark-skinned boy leans back in his seat. "The Minister passed the Magical Creatures Act ten years ago. You can't discriminate against magical creatures with the same base amount of intelligence as a wizard."

Montgomery's nostrils flare. "Absolutely right, young man. We can; however, be aware of the potential dangers. What physical and mental advantages do vampires have over _normal_ magical folk?"

Terry Boot raises his hand and spouts a textbook list of answers. Hadrian pulls a Potions text out of his bag, the cover and sides spelled to look like Defence Against Magical Creatures. He raises his eyes every couple of minutes and pretends to agree.

Montgomery is none the wiser.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian pulls his invisibility cloak closer around his body, his steps and breathing noiseless as he makes his way to Montgomery's quarters. It's his free block, and the Professor has his hands full with a class of first years.

A wave of sadness hits him like an avalanche. Hadrian clings to the stone wall beside him. Refuses to let his legs buckle. He desperately wants to break out into wrenching sobs. The emotion brings up hundreds of sleepless nights. He was young and stupid.

Hadrian is better now. He doesn't let things like this control him.

The sorrow fades away enough for him to continue on the journey. Fucking stupid ritual was supposed to make him strong, to make him the best version of himself.

It's odd, because Hadrian always does his research before doing any rituals. This ritual has worked with countless others, if the accounts from Knockturn Alley are any good. He always fits in with a certain crowd. Loose lips means knowledge that Hadrian benefits from.

Professor Montgomery's room is warded shut, but it's only a set of three, and Hadrian has an hour to get through.

Charcoal scrapes against the floor. He forms five runes known for setting off the wrong signals. The wards will get confused, making it easier for them to be broken.

Hadrian smiles wide, holding back a laugh. Rune breaking takes immense concentration, but it's always such a rush.

He begins another set. The wards resist, but it's only faint. No alarms set off yet.

The final twenty are long and complicated. Hadrian's lucky to have a near eidetic memory. It's twenty shaky minutes before he finishes.

The door pushes open without fight. Hadrian grins and makes quick work examining the room. It's best to put the runes where someone is least likely to look.

He spells the wardrobe light and pushes it out of the way. His knife scrapes easily into the maple. For what Hadrian intends he only needs three runes: one for nightmares, one to confuse the person asleep, and one to make it harder to find the set themselves.

A grin stretches across the wizard's face.

He makes quick work of the rest, carving the same runes in five other places behind furniture. It's five minutes to the end of class when Hadrian finished. There's the slightest smell of burnt wood inside the room, so Hadrian casts a final set of charms to rid the room of evidence.

With the cloak wrapped tight around his body, Hadrian steps into the hallway. Flicks his wand to obscure the charcoal ruins. He would never be so amateur as to leave behind evidence. This isn't his first rodeo.

Hadrian strides into an empty hallway. The Potions classroom is only around the corner, so he quickly divests himself of the cloak and sticks it in his book bag.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, how nice of you to join us." Snape drawls.

He doesn't have to cast a clock charm to know that he's still got a minute left before class should start.

Hermione frowns at him as he slips in beside her.

"Today we'll be making Veritaserum." Snape flicks his wand at the board, revealing the ingredients. "I expect you'll have all pre-read the chapter, so go and get started. It shouldn't take you more than half the class accomplish the first part, if it's done correctly."

"Bloody hell." Ronald Weasley whines. He and Seamus Finnigan are the only Gryffindors in the three rows of Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and a handful of Hufflepuffs.

Hermione has raised an eyebrow at Hadrian. He rolls his eyes and steps over to the cupboard. They fall into a quick routine of monosyllabic orders and exchanging of information.

She says, "You need to put the Powdered Moonstone in right away."

And he says, "You're chopping the Adder's Fork too thinly."

The potion needs to simmer for exactly ten minutes. Hermione casts the time charm and turns to him. "Lord Potter RSVP'd for both you and himself."

"I'm well aware."

She huffs. "And you just agreed?"

"My father tried not to give me much of a choice in the matter, _Black_."

"Well, I hope you shall be on your best manners. It will be nice not to have a mopey Christmas Sirius this year."

Hadrian leans forward, keeping his voice low. "You really think I give a fucking shit about that man?"

"There's no need to be so foul."

"Ron, we weren't supposed to add the Vial of Ptolemy yet." Seamus hisses.

A shadow of a smirk forms on Snape's face. He stays behind his desk and seems to be enjoying watching the two boys struggle.

"You wanker! That's what it said on the page!" The redhead says.

"You have to bring it to a simmer first!"

Ron clenches his fits. "Then we have to fucking start over, don't we?"

Seamus rolls his eyes to the high heavens. "I think you should consider a new occupation, maybe one that does not need a potions NEWT?"

"_I'll_ go get another vial." The redhead jumps to his feet, lumbering his muscular form to the cupboard. Ron came back this summer having gone from lanky teenage boy to beast. A rumour is going around that he's on performance potions.

"I love to see you truly enjoy the art of potion making, Mr. Weasley." Professor Snape's voice is thick and smooth.

"Whatever."

"I think that will be ten points from Gryffindor for dissing a teacher."

"Bloody hell."

"And another twenty points, ten for wasting potion ingredients and ten for foul language. Mr. Weasley, one would think that you're _incapable_ of self-control."

Ron's nostrils flare, his body shaking like a werewolf about to transform. But he keeps his mouth shut and goes to stomp back to his seat.

Something splashes into Hadrian's cauldron.

Hadrian flies backwards, pulling Hermione with him, a status spell peeling from his lips. The tiniest bit of smoke rises from the cauldron.

Severus Snape stalks forward. The potion was stopped halfway through a reaction, a swirl of purple in the middle of the Veritaserum. "Quick thinking, Potter." The potion master leans over the cauldron. Combs it over with a careful eye.

Snape turns to Ron. "Next time you try to kill a fellow student, perhaps a more subtle approach than a hot rock in a highly temperature sensitive potion. Ms. Black, what would've happened if Hadrian hadn't cast that spell?"

Hermione straightens. "The temperature imbalance would've caused an explosion. Anybody the potion touched would've experienced extreme pain as it essentially bleached them to the bone. If they didn't receive proper medical attention within the minute, they would die."

"And that's how, Mr. Weasley, you just earned yourself an expulsion."

"You can't do that!" Ron's turns red. "Only Headmistress McGonagall can expel anyone!"

"Which is why we're headed to her office. Everyone else, cast a status spell. We will resume next class. Hadrian, will you please?"

Hadrian straightens his tie. Fucking stupid Gryffindors and their grudges.


	3. My Mark Carved on Your Skin

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 3 - _My Mark Carved into Your Skin_

"Mr. Potter, stay behind please." McGonagall waves him forward. Mrs. Weasley gives Hadrian a final scowl, chucking a handful of floo into the fireplace and disappearing, Ron's arm clenched tightly in her claws.

Hadrian pulls himself straighter. Shifts in his seat. The Headmistress's office still smells faintly of lemon sherbert and bone-strengthening potion, an odd mixture of mint, ginger, and cardamom.

"I just wanted to ask if you're doing alright." Her blue eyes refuse to move from his form.

Hadrian frowns. "We've ascertained that the potion was stopped soon enough to prevent harm."

"I'm not asking about your physical health, young man."

A shiver slimes down Hadrian's spine. "I'm in peak condition. Is that all you wanted to ask about?"

She purses her lips. "_Mr. Potter_."

This woman means nothing to him. Hadrian takes comfort in the thought and smirks. "Are you asking as the headmistress, or as a family friend? Because either way you're overstepping yourself."

McGonagall leans back, eyes narrowing. "You're the only werewolf in this school, _young man_. Now, no one has been hurt in the seven years you've been here, but that doesn't mean we're not keeping tabs on you during full moons."

Hadrian takes a deep inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Curls his fingers underneath the seat. His fingernails pierce into the fabric. "It's not illegal anymore."

"But it's still dangerous." She needs to stop talking like he's a firstie. "And I know for a fact you're not on wolfsbane."

Breathe. Remember to breathe. "My wolf is fine. I've never hurt anything more than a rabbit during a moon."

"I never said you had, but I'm worried about you. The most successful wolves have always been the ones with a support network."

"Like Lupin had?" Hadrian lets himself smirk as he says it, watching a yellow flush spread across her cheeks. "I'm fine; the students are fine, and I'll be gone by the end of the year. You'll no longer have to _worry_ about the fate of British wizards. You're welcome. Goodbye."

He turns for the door.

"You're not going to do anything rash?"

He turns back, teeth gritting. Is her chin trembling? "I'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you mean."

He leaves before she can say anything else.

o0o0o0o

_Hadrian, _

_I know your father sent you a letter yesterday about the Yule Party, but I wanted to make sure you aren't doing anything you're not comfortable with. Being at that house, I know it might cause a bit of anxiety for you. _

_Sweetie, write your father a letter right now if this is not okay. _

_Your father and I are both looking forward to spending winter break with you. Is there any friends you would like to have over? We would love to meet them._

_Love,_

_Your mother. _

_P.S. Don't forget to say hello to Severus for me!_

Hadrian barely keeps a sneer from his face. He crumples the letter and stuffs it in his pocket. Steps into the Defensive Magic classroom, this time with ten minutes to spare. All the Slytherins make the point to arrive before class time (when possible). If it weren't for Hadrian's pathetic daydreaming, he would've been better observing that rule this week.

Blaise and Draco look up. Blaise keeps his hand on Draco's thigh, giving Hadrian a wink. He only drops it when Pansy and Daphne enter, arm in arm.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Everyone knows you two are fucking."

The Malfoy heir turns bright red, but Blaise simply smirks. "If you weren't a mudblood, you'd know that one never mentions such things, even if _everyone knows it_."

"_Zabini._" Daphne hisses, her hand snaking around his wrist like a vice.

Hermione calmly closes her Defense textbook. Cocks her head to the side. "I love how smart you sound, angering a Black heiress."

"And throwing around words that you know only earn filleting curses. I recently came across one that can turn your skin inside out." Hadrian grins.

Blaise's humour leeches away. His eyes flicker to Hermione, then Hadrian. "We both know that things are differently now."

"Just because our names can't carry us through court doesn't mean it doesn't diminish your chances in the English Wizarding World." Hermione says.

Professor Montgomery chooses this moment to stomp through the door, pointing at Blaise. "You! It was you, wasn't it?"

Zabini gets to his feet and brushes imaginary crumbs from his robes. "I'm afraid you must elaborate, Professor. It seems to be a pick-on-Blaise sort of day."

"You know what you did!" The Professor grabs Blaise by the lapels and shakes him.

"He didn't do anything." Draco pushes Montgomery away. "And you just physically assaulted a student! Wait 'til my father hears about this!"

"Nothing will come of it, _Malfoy_! Not when I _know_ that Zabini was the one who scraped nightmare runes into every piece of furniture in my bedroom!"

Draco raises an eyebrow. It's so laughable how much Montgomery has always prided himself on his intelligence, rubbing it in the faces of everyone he meets, yet he can't even identify a student that actually _takes_ runes class. And yet, he found the runes in the first place, how did he do that?

Daphne crosses her arms. "Professor Montgomery, this is a situation that must be brought to the attention of the Headmistress right away. If you'd simply gone to the aurors, we could be avoiding this entire hufflaw."

The angry man's chest rises and falls rapidly, but he lets Daphne take him by the elbow and lead him out the door. She turns back and scowls at the rest of the Slytherins before engaging Montgomery is conversation.

"I guess we're not going to be doing class today, then." Pansy's voice is definitely not disappointed. "It seems everyone needs to get the drama out of their systems before the break. Did you hear that Ronald Weasley got expelled?"

"I was there." Hermione murmurs. She stares at Hadrian, elbow propped on her textbook. Hermione has always been too insightful for her own good, and she refuses to be shaken away like the few others that saw into Hadrian's intelligence.

"He attempted murder of the entire NEWT potions class." Pansy continues.

Draco rolls his eyes. He and Blaise grab Pansy and begins walking away. "Come on, Pans. Black wants to chat with her boyfriend."

Hermione sighs. Whispers a spell under her breath. A sign reading "Class Canceled" appears on the classroom door. She flicks her wand to shut it. Warm chocolate eyes darken in a not fun way. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Hadrian lets a chuckle bellow from his throat. He stares her directly in the eye. "That was a bit anticlimactic, Black."

"You're my friend."

"Don't flatter yourself."

She rolls her eyes long and hard, like a true teenager. "We both know it's true. I'm the only person you talk to."

Hadrian drags in a breath. Straightens his back and looks down his nose at her, a skill he learned from watching Draco Malfoy. "Don't be dense; you wanted an intellectual person to exchange theories with."

"You do this every time." Does she ever blink. "Why the runes _now_?"

He stuffs his book into his bag. "You're not dumb, Hermione, and don't assume me to be. I'm sure you've put two and two together. You live in that house."

"All you had to do was send a letter to your father."

Hadrian laughs, unforced. "You already know the answer to your questions, goodbye." He gets to his feet.

A bitter _hate_ courses through his veins, the kind that turns smart wizards into the sort to cast Cruciatus in Diagon Alley, anything to fulfil the need to make someone _pay_.

His head hits stone. Hadrian curls up against cold, dirty floor. Humiliation mixes in with the despising of everything that breathes. He plunges into the back of his brain - into his mindscape - where it's easier to pretend outside things don't exist.

It's a garden, high rose bushes curved into a dome above his head. Part of his defenses are the overwhelming smells - hundreds of flowers at once. Lavender, lilac, daisies, lantanas, marigolds and more. All are planted in equal spaced rows, memories clinging to the roots.

Hadrian falls back into thick grass. There still a faint pull inside his head, laced with pain and reality, but it's easier to ignore when his senses are being overwhelmed. Easier to forget what he is and stop concealing all the things that make him not human.

"Hadrian!"

The feeling sweeps away, and he startles back to self.

Hermione is on her knees beside him, her wand tracing the rune pattern for an enervate. "What just happened?"

Hadrian jackknifes up, nearly headbutting her. "Leave it alone, Black."

"You collapsed. I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey."

"We both know I won't let you do that."

She pauses. "It's a side effect from something you did, isn't it? Something dark?"

"Dark magic isn't illegal anymore." He stumbles to his feet.

"No. But you did something that shouldn't be done without a spotter."

"I don't _need_ anyone else." A deep breath. The room still spins. Hopefully he didn't hit his

head too hard on the floor.

Hermione just looks at him with those stupidly observant brown eyes. "If you're not better by the Christmas party I'm getting Regulus to check you over."

He grits his teeth. "Fine." He can always go back on his word, anyway, or disappear. Only six months left. Six months from now he'll be in Norway.

o0o0o0o

"Montgomery managed to wiggle himself out it?" Pansy wrinkles her nose.

Hadrian purposely turns his head slightly away from the conversation.

"Apparently our professor has connections. How would've thought." Daphne says.

Draco huffs. "He touches Blaise again and -"

"Darling, I can fight my own battles. General consensus fears the Zabini name, and it's fucking useful in these sorts of situation." Blaise leans back, lacing his hands together behind his neck.

The conversation continues, but it doesn't matter anymore. Hadrian bows his head over his plate. Carefully chews the last few bites. The smell of roasted meats and fried food fills the room, and his stomach turns.

"Now, Lottie." He whispers.

A house elf pops in at the staff table.

Montgomery scowls. The gossip train is running wild, and most students can't help their eyes from occasionally slipping to Professor.

A plate goes flying, the defense professor's meats sliding across stone to rest underneath the Hufflepuff table. He jumps to his feet. Points his finger at the offending elf and opens his mouth.

Headmistress McGonagall pats his shoulder. She seems a step away from rolling her eyes, easily banishing the upset food and asking Lottie for another. The house elf nods, bug-eyed, and manages a ten second turnover rate.

The drama over, students turn back to their food.

"Thank you, Lottie." He mouths once more.

All the Slytherins are involved in their own conversation, and Hermione is nowhere to be seen, most likely still holed up in the library.

When more students are finished, he gets up and leaves with them, letting himself blend into the group. Sex, nervous sweat, and ink cling to the bodies of those that surround. Hadrian's gotten used to it over the last seven years, but it will rewarding to finally leave.

He's been the perfect Potter heir for far too long.

Hadrian lets the staircases divert him, counting his steps in groups of seven. Usually a stomp of magic will bend them to his will, but he needs time to think.

"If not Zabini than who is it? They're your students, _Severus._" Professor Montgomery's voice filters through the partially open door of Snape's office.

Hadrian pulls the invisibility cloak from his bag and gracefully swings it over his shoulders, tucking himself into the wall.

"I forget the time where we established you're my master. _Please_ enlighten me as to how this came to be?"

"You're one arrogant son of bitch, you know that?"

Snape answers with a snort.

"There won't always be a circle protecting your Lord." A heavy silence promises imminent pain. "We will take over, and the light will reign once more! You served Dumbledore once, you -"

"Alec, you seem to be under the impression that I'm your ally. Declaring treason against the minister will only result in you being imprisoned."

"I have the right to free speech!"

"Welcome to _Britain_. Get out of my sight, you ignorant dunderhead."

"You'll regret this." Montgomery stumbles out of the room, looking to be suppressing the urge to stick his tongue out. "This isn't over."

"On the contrary." Snape closes the door. His voice filters through with a "muffliato" and the office goes quiet.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian smiles to himself, once again tucked under his favorite family heirloom. A low quarter moon shines through an arched window, casting eerie shadows in aid with Hogwarts' torches. Montgomery's scent drifts out in front of Hadrian like a map. Why does is it always hinted with sauerkraut?

He stands in front of Montgomery's bedroom and rolls his eyes. Of all the stupid things - this room is warded the same way as the last, with one more weak ward to somehow make it less easy to break in? Apparently the best plan is to trap an intruder once inside. Hadrian won't fault him with this logic…. yet.

It takes all of twenty minutes to slip through the wards once again, this time with the forethought to cast a strong notice-me-not over the charcoal runes.

Montgomery's chest rises and falls. He lies with his back against the wall, a thin blanket thrown over his body. He's a world class actor.

A couple of spells bounce around the room, sending Hadrian information about potential harm. Nothing is cursed, well…

The smell of salt squeezes the inside of Hadrian's nose. Hadrian soundlessly steps closer to the bigoted professor, his wand twirling around his fingers.

And then he stops, taking one deliberate step forward into the circle of runes recognizable within a seconds sweep of the eye.

"Well well, what do we have here?" Montgomery smiles. "Someone under a disillusionment, perhaps?"

So this is Montgomery with lowered inhibitions. There was always a chance he wouldn't do what Hadrian wanted him to, but it wasn't high.

Hadrian mumbles under his breath (still under a muffliato), with his wand flickering through different rune sequences. It will take some time, but he can break through.

"Revelio!" The man shouts. It bounces off the circle, and Hadrian doesn't stifle his chuckle. To choose a circle that allowed no spells out is understandable, but one that blocks both ways? A little difficult for a confrontation.

"You won't evade me forever! Eventually you'll need sustenance. You'll die without my aid! Reveal yourself immediately!" He's like a Disney villain from the shows Lily used to Hadrian to watch.

Montgomery plops back onto the bed, eyes narrowed. He crosses his arms like a petulant child.

With the final part of the breaking spell, Hadrian steps out of the circle. The Professor continues to glare at wherever he thinks Hadrian is.

A wand presses into Montgomery's throat, a paralyzing curse soundless from Hadrian's lips. The bigot falls back. His eyes buzz about the room like bees - the only part of his body that can still move.

Hadrian casts a mobilicorpus and flips him over. "You'll never be able to see who did this to you." His vocal cords vibrate oddly, working to make him sound like someone else with the aid of a charm. "You'll have to listen to someone else talk for once."

He slips his rune knife from his pocket and cuts the back of Montgomery's robes straight down the spine. Once pushed away, the bumpy skin of a middle-aged man is revealed. He's covered in moles and pimples, oil clinging to the pads of Hadrian's fingers.

"Looks like you need to wash back here more often." Hadrian smirks, pressing the knife between the shoulder blades and tracing a rune. Blood rises from the shallow cuts.

"You're so helpless you can't even flinch. Horrible, right?" Hadrian starts on the second rune, slightly further down the spine. "I guess maybe next time you shouldn't spread propaganda against magical creatures."

The scent of iron and magic spurts through the room. Hadrian inhales deeply. Don't get high on the power. Don't be stupid.

"Final one. You're lucky - I was thinking about going with a seven rune set." Hadrian traces the lines inward to outward, left to right. Such complicated runes have to done in the correct order like Chinese characters.

"You must not have eaten very much at dinner, eh? Yet you decided to trap me. Always fucking thinking about your intelligence, aren't you, buddy?" He climbs off the professor. Adjusts his cloak.

Fuck. How long has he been monologing for? But it's not stupid to punish your enemies, and no one will know how Hadrian did it, anyway.

He takes a deep breath and casts all the scouring charms he knows. Best to get rid of the evidence. "It's a pretty complicated set of runes." His fingers brush over the blood, spreading it along skin like a lotion. "Tergeo."

The blood disappears. "Vulnera sanentur." The skin knits together, leaving faint white scars where the runes were drawn.

Hadrian smiles once more. Casts a somnia on the paralysed man and obliviates the memory of the… confrontation. Mind magic is difficult, and if you want to do it right it's important to bury the memory where someone is not likely to look. Hadrian finds a memory of one of Montgomery's sexual partners and buries it in during their encounter.

o0o0o0o

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_My studies have been really intense this quarter - NEWT year is doing its best to take me down, so I'm going to stay at Hogwarts for an extra week. I'll apparate home on the 24th for the Yule Party, you can expect me sometime in the afternoon. _

_I've spent the last four months with these children and see no need for further conversation. Thanks for the offer though, Mum._

_I am not in need of new dress robes. I went shopping at Hogsmeade last weekend._

_See you then,_

_Your loving son._

Being an adult in the wizarding world is liberating.


	4. The Yuletide Party

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 4 - _The_ _Yuletide Party_

Lily bolts for Hadrian as soon as he apparates into the Manor. The wizard purposely relaxes his body language; plants his feet and holds tight to his trunk.

"It feels like forever." She gathers him in a tight hug.

It takes effort not to stiffen. "Hello Mum."

Dad strolls over, trying not to look awkward in the middle of the large, echoing room. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, cheek tucked between his teeth. "How's it going, son?"

"I'm doing well." Lily finally releases him. "How's work?"

"Good, good." James looks around.

Lily puts her hands on her hips. "Honestly, you two! Sounding like business partners that meet once a year."

"I'm quite tired, Mum. Would it be okay if I took a nap?"

"Of course, love." She can't resist sliding her fingers down his cheek, eyes glinting. "Whatever you want."

And then starts the pity fest. Every fucking time.

"Set an alarm for dinner." Dad blurts.

"I know." Hadrian turns to his father and tries not to sound patronizing, "thanks for reminding me."

James Potter looks Hadrian like he's attempting spontaneous x-ray vision. Does he think because he's an auror he has to be on guard at home? He's always trying to see the beast inside his own son.

Since he was old enough to move out of the nursery, Hadrian has had his own suite of rooms. He steps into plush red carpet. Sighs at the golden walls. It's always been large and menacing, with posters of Puddlemere united plastered to the walls.

Always an image of who he's supposed to be.

Hadrian triggers the set of runes at his door. His bed is how he left it, sheets tucked underneath the mattress, not a crinkle in sight. He tucks his trunk into a corner and whispers the password, tracing a complicated rune over the time-worn green lid.

The smell of books lowers his heart rate. Hadrian brings the old black tome to his nose and _breathes_. He flips to the page he last read.

Hours later Hadrian is ready to fling it at the wall. This frustration hasn't dissipated through the last week. The attacks have been steady coming every day, multiple times a day, and he can find no way to stop it.

Will he be helpless and cursed forever? Has he been so stupid as to let one ritual rule the rest of his life?

Hadrian pulls at his hair. He's only got thirty minutes before the party, so he tugs on his deep-green robes and slaps some product in his hair with a set of charms.

"You look very handsome, sweetie." Lily pulls him into a tight hug and kisses his forehead. "Please be careful." They both know she's not worried about _his_ safety.

"Let's sidealong it." James sticks out his arm and smiles at Hadrian, much too bright and fake.

His son stifles a wince. "I'll apparate myself, thanks." Hadrian pulls the magic from his core, body pushed through an apparition tube that seems to almost knife at his insides. It's more painful to apparate to places you don't remember that well.

Hadrian lands harshly, hurrying to make his small stumble into a smooth movement.

"Prongslet, you came!" Sirius bounces over. It's been 9 years, and the only changes wrought to his form are the slightest wrinkle around his eyes.

Hadrian lifts his chin. There are already a couple dozen guests chatting around the room, more than a few observing this interaction. Regulus Black leans against the mantle, not even pretending to hide his attention.

"Please don't touch me." Hadrian says.

Sirius stops with his arms open wide and deflates like a balloon. So much like James. "I'm so sorry about -"

"We don't talk about it anymore, _Uncle._ Now, I'm going to wander around for an hour or two, and then I'm going to leave. Do not attempt to engage with me, and we'll get along fine."

"You're so cold." Sirius whispers.

Hadrian smiles with all teeth. "Oh look, there's Hermione."

Regulus gives Hadrian a short nod as he passes.

Hermione smiles brightly, obviously enjoying her conversation with a young, handsome wizard. His Slavic accent sharpens and softens English consonants in a charming, lilting fashion, black eyes shining.

"Hadrian!" She gives him a side hug. "This is Viktor Krum. I know you don't follow Quidditch but -"

"You'd have to be living under a rock not to know _Viktor Krum_." The slightest bit of sarcasm seeps into his voice.

"Nice to meet you." Krum extends his hand.

Hadrian lets it hang for just the slightest awkward second, then take it. "We'll see very soon if I feel the same."

"Hadrian's a bit protective over me." Hermione says lightly. "But it's really nice having a _gay best friend_ as your wingman. He gives the best fashion advice." She blinks innocently.

Viktor cracks a smile.

"I dated a girl in sixth year." Hadrian huffs.

"Because your parents wanted you to, dear. Look, there she is now. Why don't you reunite in all your passionate glory?" The only outer indicator of Hermione's mirth is the miniscule twitch at the corner of her mouth, her tone honey-coated with sincerity.

Nobody out plays Hermione. She always knows where to strike.

Ginevra Weasley saunters through the room. Red hair glows against her light turquoise robes, tucked in at the waist to show her curves. She glances Hadrian's way.

Hadrian weaves through the crowd. The two meet in the middle of the room.

"It's been a long time." Her lips are painted dark red.

"It would've been shorter had you returned my letters."

Ginny laughs, a lovely, bell-like sound. Her Veela aura turns the heads of most men (and some women) in the room. "You were never a jilted lover, Hadrian. And it was only three little missives before you caught on."

"How's Beauxbatons treating you?"

"Better than Hogwarts ever did."

"And your parents, they're better now?"

Her mouth twists. "Are yours?"

"Touché." It's been so long.

A _wave_ of superiority and boredom flays through Hadrian's skin. He attempts to stifle a groan, arm locking around his stomach.

"Merlin, Hadrian." Ginny puts her hand over his.

A man walks in from the apparition room. Everyone turns to him like he's a god to be worshipped. The Minister smirks, but it fades when his eyes flicker across the center of the room - where Ginny and Hadrian are standing.

The emotion flings itself away like a bridge jumper, it's life gone just as fast - Hadrian can finally breathe again. "I'm fine."

"If that's you at fine I hesitate -"

"_Ginevra, _you've made it quite obvious that we no longer have any sort of relationship. It's hilarious to think you care _now_."

Her hand tightens around his and her skin boils. "I guess I'll have to trust Hermione to keep you from killing yourself, won't I?."

Hadrian finally rips his hand away and strides off. There's not enough cleaning charms to rid him of the sweat and sleeplessness that continually clings to his skin. He slides into a low-lit alcove, arm against the wall, gasping for breath.

It's fucking annoying to be so weak. Up until now none of the rituals tired him out for more than a handful of days. Hadrian is exhausted and it only seems to be getting worse.

"You look ill."

Hadrian snaps to the left. The Minister smirks at him, orange torchlight outlining his sharp-cut figure.

"I'm fine, sir." Hadrian bites out. Annoyance and curiosity spin through his stomach, and he falls to the ground, gasping once again like the fucking idiot he is.

And then a hand rests on his forehead, and his vision explodes. Colours that he's never seen hit with all the subtlety of a sucker punch. New smells crinkle inside his nose, little pictures fluttering around his eyes.

The hands grab his hips and pull him upright, his back resting against a wall. Hadrian blinks rapidly.

"I think you should call me Thomas." Minister Gaunt smiles again. His ice-blue eyes flicker back and forth across Hadrian's features. "It seems we have some things to discuss."

Hadrian grits his teeth. "_Sir, _I'm not ill. It was a dizzy spell - happens sometimes, if you'd -"

The Minister's elegant white fingers curl around Hadrian's wrist. Irritation and desire cramp his insides. Gaunt refuses to break eye contact.

Hadrian is an _idiot_. "I've been feeling _you_ this whole fucking time." Is it bad to swear in front of the Minister of the British Wizarding World? Better call it extenuating circumstances.

"It seems the illness has been going around." Gaunt releases Hadrian's wrist. "Are you able to stand?"

Hadrian bites back a perfectly good sarcastic comment and jumps to his feet. It's not quite as graceful as he intended, and he has to brace a hand against the wall.

The Minister watches him with burning eyes. "Let's move somewhere a bit more private."

He's not a servant to be ordered around, but he's curious, too curious. The emotions have been driving him wild. If Gaunt has the answer, why not give him a chance? Not to say that Hadrian isn't one flick away from releasing his wand. Just because someone is in a position of power doesn't mean they don't can't attack you in a dark corner.

How many hours before they realize he's gone?

Gaunt directs him with a hand on his robed elbow. Closes the door behind them. It's one of the Blacks' smaller parlours, with green wallpapered walls and furniture so dark it's easy to imagine a boggart behind each door.

"I can certainly see why some might wish to bond themselves to me, but please, do explain yourself." Gaunt twirls his wand around his fingers. It's yew - just like Hadrian's.

Hadrian chuckles, grating and sarcastic. "We can use quasso, are you familiar with it, _Minister_?"

"Quite." Gaunt narrows his eyes. "You want to break this bond like a simple Muggle annulment? Funny, being that you managed to accomplish it without my consent."

"I think we can both agree that this is a mistake. If we can quasso and you can not lock me in Azkaban, that would be great."

"How did you manage to do it, anyway?" Gaunt saunters forward, tapping his chin.

Hadrian sets his jaw. "An unexpected ritual side effect."

"On _which_ ritual?" The Minister's hand curls around Hadrian's shoulder, a centimeter away from touching naked skin.

"Optimus sui."

Gaunt's eyes flicker across his features. He's too close, breath burning through Hadrian's eyelashes, chest once step from being against Hadrian's. "This is… unexpected."

"But not wanted, and I understand, _Minister_. So let's break this bond, and I get to finish my education and skip out of this blasted country."

"I thought I told you to call me Thomas." Nails lightly pressed against his throat. Ever so slowly Gaunt puts his hand against Hadrian's neck. The world turns upside down in an addictive blast of colour. "Your name is Hadrian Potter, yes?"

"Yes, stop touching me." His voice goes breathless where he meant demand.

"Don't lie, little wolf."

Hadrian jerks himself away, sprinting for the door. He jostles the handle and throws all his magic, but it refuses to budge. So he turns, wand up and at the ready. "You can't possibly be wanting to keep the bond. You're the _Minister_." _And I want to be anywhere but here._

Gaunt smiles again, this time with less menace. His sharp cheekbones and strong jaw only become more apparent. "You're much more powerful than your classmates, aren't you?"

"I've put hundreds of more hours into my studies." Hadrian shouldn't have admitted that. No one has ever had this kind of power over him, nor have they made him want to spill his guts like a teen girl.

"And you've got more magic in your pinky finger than most have in their entire bodies."

"I'm also a fucking werewolf. You may be passing a shit ton of laws for them, but that doesn't mean they're not controversial."

"You don't consider yourself among the group of werewolves as a whole?"

"_I'm not like them_. I am; however, asking you politely to unlock this fucking door!"

Gaunt tilts his head to the side. Hadrian has only seen the Minister on the cover of the Daily Prophet, looking handsome and in control, and he's only heard his voice on the Wireless Wizarding Network, which doesn't hold snuff to the real thing.

"You're not the only one that's been experiencing the 'side effects,' little wolf. Do you truly want to run away before we've found a solution?"

"You rejected my solution." Hadrian slams his fist against the door. This time (for some reason) it obeys, clicking open.

Gaunt's smile leeches away from his face, eyes pinned on Hadrian like the younger wizard is a dead butterfly pinned against a board. "This isn't over, little wolf."

"Don't fucking call me that." Hadrian bolts out the door. For all those times he was cool and collected, for all those times he made purebloods sputter despite all their training, this seems to be karma.

It's almost too easy to filter back into the crowd. No one seemed to notice his absence, though he passes a group of important men in expensive robes, commenting about the Minister and "where could he have possibly gone?".

_The Bulgarian_ has finally left Hermione, leaving her laughing not so sincerely with a group of young wizards recently NEWT tested.

"I'm going to take off." He places a hand on her elbow, and she leans over to let him kiss her cheek.

"I'll see you back at school - that greasy Yule food will have worn off by then, right _cousin_?"

He grimaces. Trust Hermione to enforce her ultimatum. "I'll eat what I want."

The group of men laugh.

"She's got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?" One guffaws, who looks bright eyed and bushy tailed enough to follow Hadrian into the Forbidden Forest, no question asked.

"Farewell, _cousin_." Hadrian says lightly.

Hermione twitches, barely managing to cover up her reaction. He never references their familial relationship.

This party just seems like the time for new things.

Strong, colourful magic flings itself from an entryway. The Minister strolls into the room, engaging himself into a group with ease. His magic tastes like pears.

"Goodbye." Hermione nods.

Hadrian squares his shoulders. He walks past Gaunt with his head held high, looking incredibly occupied by the painting in the apparition room.

"Leaving already?" Regulus Black steps into Hadrian's space. His hair has always been too long and weirdly shaped - like he got stuck with a fad for all time, but he manages to make it like slightly regal with a tilt of his head.

"I'm sure the life of the party will be dearly missed."

"My brother will be quite… sorrowful at the outcome of this event."

"He deserves a little bit of sorrow, don't you think?" Hadrian steps forward so they're nose to nose. Hadrian is shorter (he's shorter than most wizards) but the trick is to raise your jaw like you're superior, even as you stare down someone that's nearing two metres tall.

"Perhaps he's been paying his penance for the last 9 years."

"Perhaps that isn't long enough."

"A little bit vengeful, aren't you? My brother's lover killed himself because of the mistake - it's been paid for." A long hawthorn wand presses against Hadrian's chest.

Hadrian smiles without humour, sharp words stinging in his lungs. "What are you going to do, curse me?"

"No. I'm reminding you of whom my brother has at his side."

"Like this is a petty betrayal? Sirius will get over me, everyone will."

Then Hadrian back hits the wall, and the Hawthorn wand rests against his throat. "Are those the words of a suicidal boy?"

"_No_." Hadrian curls his fingers around his wand, flashing it up to rest at Regulus' throat. "Those are the words of a man that's going to leave this petty country behind. Now, if you excuse me." Hadrian pushes Regulus away and gets ready to apparate.

"You've been experiencing side effects of a ritual."

Hadrian's heart gives a heavy thump against his ribcage. "It's not your problem, _Black_."

"My daughter is worried about you."

Hadrian lets loose a laugh that scrapes more than he wanted. "I'm not anyone's concern, especially not yours. Get it through your thick head."

Dark eyes burn, like he's trying to rip Hadrian apart simply by a stare. "If you manage to overcome your pride, you know where to find me."

Hadrian scowls and apparates away.

Foreign lust curls in Hadrian's gut, intensifying with the landing. He balls a fist at his side and staggers to his feet.

He has to pass through the living room to make it to the stairs.

"You really did a number on ol' Sirius there." James says. His body is stiff, ready to spring.

Hadrian shakes off the last of the lust and raises his chin. "I'm sure he would've liked it a lot less had I sunk my teeth into his flesh."

James jumps to his feet. "How _dare_ you."

"Sweetie." Lily whispers from the doorway. She puts her hand on Hadrian's arm, her eyes and forehead creased. "You didn't have to go if you didn't want to."

"I know, Mum."

"But you went anyways! And now Sirius is having yet another of his breakdowns - and poor Reg and I are left to deal with it."

Hadrian raises an eyebrow. "I'm not going to have this conversation. I'm tired and going to bed."

"You'll answer me when I talk to you!" James' hand flashes forward like a snake ready to strike.

It's easy to sidestep both his parents' grips, to form his face into disappointment.

"James, please don't. You know how Harry feels about that place."

If she would just stop fucking calling him that, the world would be a happier place.

The Potter Lord flares his nostrils, fists clenched at his sides. "Next time you need my help, _sport_, you sure aren't getting any without an apology." And he storms off.

"I wish you wouldn't antagonize him." Fireplace light gleams through Lily's ruby-red hair, her green eyes watering.

"Mother, I won't be treated like a child any longer. I've told you that."

"I understand." She pulls him into a hug. "I know you don't want any help, but you're - your situation means you need some, sometimes."

Hadrian rips himself from her grasp. "Never. I'll never ask for it."

"Sweetie please don't -"

His _own_ anger gives him enough energy to ascend the stairs. To stride down a full hallway to his room and ward the door.

An attack hits him full force, and he barely reaches the bed before curling up into the fetal position.

Irritation, lust, and an intense concentration Hadrian only knows with arithmancy homework. He gasps. His body moves against his wants, seizing against the bed like a fish out of water. The feelings overwhelm him like a room full of people - all different scents and sights and sounds clouding every pore of the five senses.

Why does Gaunt feel this way? Whom does he lust after? Is he working on a project? It's well-known that the Minister funds numerous studies for magic kind and often works on them himself. He's a genius, everyone says, though if you've never heard any bad things about the Minister of Magical Britain, that probably means the citizens are afraid to tell the truth.

Hadrian presses a fist to his forehead. How fucking stupid did he have to be? All he had to do was not mess up his seventh year.

Maybe he should tell Hermione.

No. He can't trust anyone. Not with this. Certainly not with anything else.

Fitful sleep overtakes.


	5. Full Moon (I Run with You)

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 5 - _Full Moon (I run with you)_

"I've noticed that you've been using the school owls lately." Lily says, eyes big. "Your father is wondering where Hedwig is."

One of the few gifts from his parents that wasn't tailored to a normal Gryffindor boy. "Haven't seen her in weeks, actually. Ruddy owl she was, always had a mind of her own." _I killed her._

"Oh honey, you don't think she-?"

"I couldn't find her in the owlery."

Lily's features drip pity; she almost looks like she's going to cry. "I'm so sorry, love."

"Nothing doin'. She had to go sometime." She didn't deserve it. He fucking _sacrificed_ her for the worst ritual of his life.

Lily places her hand on his. Sometimes Hadrian wonders if she's an automaton, brought to life only by James and society's wishes. She never truly cares.

James strides into the room, and she not so subtly turns back to her food.

"I hope you've reconsidered your actions, son." The man piles his plate with breakfast meats and pastries - he's been letting himself go the last couple of years, as evidenced by the roundness of his face and the pudge around his midsection.

Hadrian takes the last bite of his egg and chews slowly. Swallows. "Now that you're both here; I'm going back to Hogwarts for the rest of the hols."

"But you said-" Lily starts.

"No. You're staying here with us." James growls, plunging his fork into a sausage.

"That's where you're wrong." Hadrian's chair scrapes back across glossy tile. "I'm seventeen."

"Listen to me, young man. We fund everything: your education, clothes, food. It's time for you to show some gratitude."

Hadrian smiles slowly. "That's what parents are _supposed_ to do. You can try to bend me to your will, but even if you disinherit me, you can't cut me off from the inheritance Grandad left."

James stands, looking ready to flip the table.

"James, love. Please just let him go." Lily pleads, both her hands on his.

"Nobody should talk to me that way."

"He's our son!"

"Our son died the day Moony attacked him."

A fierce anger pounds through Hadrian's heart, and he can't blame it on the side effects. His wand snaps into his hand. He points it square at James. "I'm going to collect my things. I will _never_ return."

"All the better." James spits.

Hadrian backs out of the room. Never show your back to the enemy. He ascends the stairs slowly. _Pretend you're in charge. Pretend you haven't been waiting for this moment for the last 9 years._

It's easy enough to shrink his things. James had been on a case the day Lily bought his trunk. She felt guilty and spent three hundred galleons for one with a room.

So Hadrian tosses in everything he owns and cares about (his books are already inside, so all it takes it a few handfuls). Lightens the trunk with a charm. He sends out a probe of magic to make sure he's still keyed into the wards, then apparates away.

It's a hard landing in front of Hogwarts' gates. Hadrian strides forward and raises his chin. The large doors move with a simple raise of his free hand. Magical places are always more likely to bow to ones with power.

The mess hall is near empty. Two Ravenclaws are hurriedly shoving food into their mouths while trying to carry on a conversation about mass conversion in high-level transfiguration spells.

"Where does it all go?" The mudblood mumbles.

If you're asking that question in seventh year, there isn't much hope for you. Hadrian's dragonhide boots are soundless against dark grey stone.

"Morgana." He says.

The Slytherin wall slides aside. The common room is cold and empty. A groan sounds from the hallway. Hadrian ascends the stairs.

He finds the source of the moaning.

Draco Malfoy is pinned against the wall, cheek against waxed wood, his trousers pulled down to his thighs. Blaise Zabini has an arm around Draco's abdomen.

The muscles in Blaise's thighs flex with each thrust.

Draco gives a hollow squeak, knocking his head back onto Blaise's shoulder. Brown skin complements pale white; both are shirtless. Sweat rolls down Blaise's naked back, filling the air with its heady scent.

"Please, more." Draco begs. Hadrian would never be like that. He's never needed anyone or anything to give him pleasure—that time is better spent learning.

Blaise speeds up his thrusts, jackhammering into Draco. Blaise's face contorts—he's close. Draco groans.

Then Blaise turns, and his eyes catch on Hadrian's form. The Italian wizard smirks and tightens his grip on Draco. Hadrian crosses his arms and leans against the wall. He allows his eyes full reign. A smirk flickers onto his face. It's almost funny. This is when people are most vulnerable.

Blaise moans and reaches around further, fisting his strong fingers around Draco's flushed pink cock. They come simultaneously, groans twisting together, making it difficult for Hadrian to ascertain which sounds belongs to whom.

"Darling, we have a voyeur." Blaise plants kiss on Draco's neck. He pulls up his trousers and grabs their robes from the floor. Casts a spell to clean away the come, sweat, and dirt.

Draco turns to Hadrian, the tips of his ears flushed red. "You're such a freak, Potter. Ever heard of privacy?"

Hadrian grins, letting his eyes run over the Malfoy heir's half naked form. "Says the wizard being fucked by another wizard in a school hallway."

Draco flushes further. His blond hair curls at the bottom from the moisture. His pupils are enlarged, fingers drumming patterns on his trousers.

"Bit of a virgin, aren't you, Potter?" Blaise slowly buttons up his shirt. Swings his heated glance back over to Hadrian.

Hadrian glances to the spot where Draco's spunk still stains the wall. "Your come face looks quite a lot like constipation. You must only do it from behind, or do you both shut your eyes when you orgasm?"

Blaise grins.

"Just fuck off already." Draco says, rolling his eyes. He pulls Blaise down for heated kiss, glimpses of tongue between their lips.

Hadrian smirks as he walks past. Draco opens his eyes for a split second, then closes them and drags Blaise closer. Their kiss turns lethargic. They stumble to the bedroom.

Hadrian shuts his door just as Blaise shuts his. This has been the most interesting return to Hogwarts he's ever had.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian passes the rest of his holidays in frenzied studying. Now that he knows what's causing the side effects, he can block it off at the source.

It takes hours upon hours of magical calculations before he gets it right. He waits until late at night and crouches before the common room fire. Tongs clutch around lightweight copper. It took a lot of frustration to form it into the pathetic twist of bracelet it is now.

"Miseros tumultus vinculum." He whispers, forming the two runes with his wand. Emerald green lines dance in the air before diving into the fire.

The copper melts together, smoothing out inconsistencies and changing shape. Orange and red smolt their way through, happily chewing on the offering.

And then a spark spits at Hadrian. It hits him straight in the face, and he falls onto his arse. The bracelet clatters to the floor.

"Aguamenti." Water spills down.

Hadrian hovers his hand above the jewelry. Slowly curls his fingers around it. It's almost done, all he needs is the potion.

His heart beats too fast, hands clammy, sweat pouring down his forehead. All his energy seems to have leached out with the spell. This doesn't usually—

Hadrian rushes to the window, pulling back the emerald drapes. "Fuck."

He's never forgotten about the full moon. Never.

Hadrian runs.

The Forbidden Forest is a mass of magical creatures and plants, all emitting different odours and dangers.

Hadrian ducks through a copse of dark oak trees, hands sticky with sap, shaking as he slips out of his shirt and pants and tucks them under a large tree root with a notice-me-not. It's against everything in him to hide his wand in the clothing.

Sweat pours down his body, his bare feet sinking into mossy, wet ground. He gives a restrained scream and falls down on all fours.

It's always the worst bit - transforming. If he can just get through -

A shriek of pain claws along his spine, and the next scream sounds much more like a howl. Hadrian writhes. It's like taking it up the arse - he's read, now that werewolves can distribute books about their kind without Ministry propaganda.

Another flame curls around his legs. He prostrates against the mud. Relaxes each muscle and lets the pain win.

The wolf hops to his feet. Soothing magic tickles his fur. He breaks out into a run. Red night eyes follow him, tickling the back of his neck, but they know who would win, so they only watch.

Something calls him forward. The wolf sniffs out the latent magic, a trail left for him alone. Another magical creature, perhaps?

A hissing sound raises his hackles. The wolf plants his feet, ready to spring forward or back, depending on what's necessary.

Black coils wrap around a tree, spotted with white. A snake's face drops before the wolf's. He bares his teeth.

The snake drops. It's at least thirty feet long, hooded and fanged with deep red eyes. A long, forked tongue exits its mouth, vibrating with a hiss.

An odd feeling curls in the wolf's stomach. He's never been in a pack, so he doesn't know…

He turns to the right and bolts. The snake springs after him, keeping pace at his left. It's a race.

The wolf's tongue lolls out his mouth, paws beating harder against the ground. He bounds over a tree root - the tree whispering insults.

He's watches the snake out of the corner of his eye. Moonlight sneaks through the oak boughs, glittering against the scales.

His foot hits a tree root, and he fumbles before regaining his pace. The snake hisses again, faster; can serpents laugh?

A growl vibrates through the forest. The wolf and snake stop. Cold wind screams through the trees, bringing the scent of wet fur and acid. There's nowhere to run. The wolf's hackles raise, and the serpent lets out a warning hiss.

"Prey!" A giant ball of matted fur and green-glowing slobber stumbles from the forest. Its eyes shine urine-yellow, maw wide and full of sharpened teeth.

The serpent utters a stream of sibilants. It rises up to a ten feet height, eye to eye with the growling creature.

"Stupid snake." Slurs the beast. It shoots forward—

Only to be stopped by fangs in its neck. The serpent clings on through a struggle, being tossed this way and that before it can manage a couple of coils around the beast's belly.

The wolf is being stupid. Surely he can help? He plants his feet, summoning up energy from that place the human likes so much. A blaze of emerald green trumpets towards the creature.

It hits the beast's stomach, felling it like an old tree.

The snake unwraps itself and slithers towards the wolf. Deep red eyes stare into the wolf's, flickering back and forth until the wolf feels antsy for another run.

So they run.

o0o0o0o

Leaves crunch against bare skin as Hadrian rolls onto his front. "Fuck."

His naked body is covered in mud, dirt crusted underneath his fingernails. Sunlight filters through a canopy of leaves. He stumbles to his feet. Cracks his neck back and forth and peers around.

Hadrian sighs. Braces his feet around a pine and deftly climbs the tree, attempting not to scratch his genitals or any other part of his soft human flesh. His wolf is always stronger.

About twenty feet up and Hadrian can poke his head out of the canopy, peering up until he finds the sun. It's hiding behind a cloud.

He slowly descends from the tree. When he's about ten feet above the ground, he slips and curses, scraping himself on a wayward branch before slamming against the ground.

A pinecone attempts to merge with the flesh of his knee.

Hissing sounds to his left. Hadrian swallows and turns. He can only manage three defensive spells wandlessly, and those are weak in a true duel.

The serpent from last night slithers towards the werewolf. Hadrian feels the strange urge to cover up his privates, but it's a fucking snake. What does it care about naked humans?

Red eyes stare into his own. A twist of lust and possession scrapes down Hadrian's spine. He grabs the tree beside him, gasping, attempting not to fall back down to the ground.

This stupid fucking bond. Why the fuck would the Minister take someone into his bed when he knows that Hadrian is connected to him? _He doesn't owe anything to you._

The snake comes closer. Hadrian doesn't move, his heart attempting prison escape from behind his ribs.

A forked tongue peaks out. Once. The snake gets closer. Twice. Closer. Thrice. The tongue meets the side of his mouth.

Hadrian suffers another foreign twist of lust. "Fuck." He breathes deeply. "I have to get back to Hogwarts."

The snake bows its head in a nod.

Hadrian backs away, hands held up like he's being arrested. "Goodbye."

The snake turns away and slithers into the forest.

Hadrian follows the sun back to Hogwarts.

o0o0o0o

"I'm sure you know nothing about the Defense teacher's disappearance?" Snape slices the mandrake root with quick, efficient swipes of the knife.

Hadrian's mouth twitches. "I'm just interested to see what McGonagall will do in so little time."

"We had the same defense Professor around for two decades before you arrived, brat."

"Maybe the bad teachers are actually being fired now that Dumble's out."

Snape smirks. "You were a child when Gaunt got elected. Been doing your research?"

"Everything has certainly been running better since that _wondrous_ event." Hadrian drops in some faery tears. The potion spins to a light blue colour, emitting the raw, heady odour of swamplands.

The Professor lowers the burner temperature and raises an eyebrow. "But you question whether he's simply better at hiding the bad things?"

Hadrian glances at Snape. They're both serious, for all the fluent sarcasm. "You're smart enough to know I don't plan on sticking around Britain after graduation."

Snape nods.

"In the last decade, media outlets have become drastically neutral. They don't proclaim light or dark, and all information is cited and sourced like fucking Uni essays. The Daily Prophet used to be trash, now they run educational reports and show statistics of how the world is improving. Gossip rags still exist, but they no longer touch certain people."

"Many people did not notice the change." Snape ladles the aquamarine potion into vials and holds one up to the light. No impurities.

"It was subtle, just like everything the Minister has done."

"And does this contribute to you leaving the country after graduation?"

Hadrian traces the worn wood counter with his fingertip. "The Light is building up an army."

"Indeed." Snape steps in front of Hadrian. "_James Potter_ is attempting to make you part of it."

"I always knew he was going to, sir. I sent in my citizenship test last week." He's talking to Severus like a child, Hadrian realizes. He immediately brings his chin up and pushes back his shoulders.

"Gaunt's agenda has only brought betterment to the British Wizarding World - for wizards like us especially. You do know that, yes?"

"I'm well aware, but I won't be pulled into a war. Even if it wasn't happening. There's a house in Norway Granddad left for me."

"We'll see. Your potion is finished."

Hadrian and Snape meet eyes. Dark black orbs that fit with the potion master's velvety voice. Severus had been Hadrian's first crush.

"There's only five minutes of potency with the Schutz's formula."

The werewolf nods. Pulls a woven copper bracelet from his pocket and drops it in. Bubbles scream along the top of liquid blue.

Snape steps back, wand drawn, but he gives the potion time to wind down. "Perhaps an explanation is due?"

"Perhaps not." Hadrian purses his mouth.

"I do understand that your mantra is trust no one, Mr. Potter." The professor stops abruptly. What did he mean to say?

A weird feeling grasps at Hadrian's insides. "I know you do." He flicks his wand at the cauldron, banishing his potion. His copper bracelet rests innocently at the bottom of the ink-black cauldron, twinkling in the torchlight. "I also know that I could've snuck in here late at night and stolen your ingredients, and that you recognize what this will do."

"It certainly throws a wrench in your plans." And Snape is so fucking calm as he says it.

"I'm working on it."

"And they aren't agreeing to a quasso?"

"No. He isn't."

Snape cocks his head to the side. "If you need my aid -"

"I'll ask for it." Hadrian's stomach twists again. "Thank you for letting me use the lab, sir."

The professor nods once. "Mr. Potter."

Hadrian's hand hovers around the doorknob. "Yes?"

"I hope you know my house is open to you, should you need it."_ I don't do this for just anyone_. says the voice underneath his tone.

"I—thank you."

Hadrian closes the door behind himself.

o0o0o0o

It's the weekend before school starts. Most students are still at home, milking their vacation however long they can (though they'll have a slight freakout Sunday night, realizing that they had two weeks to accomplish their homework and left it for now).

"I hope that's just extracurricular reading." Hermione slides in across from Hadrian, pointing at his book.

"What, afraid I'll get the jump on my NEWTS before you?"

"Something like that." A faint smile does wonders for her face. "Thanks a lot, by the way. Sirius somehow became even more depressed than had you not gone at all."

"You are so welcome, dear." Hadrian turns back to his book. Will she realize the conversation is over?

"Is it gone?" Apparently not.

"It's none of your business, _Black_, but yes, it is." Hadrian stares her straight in the deep brown eyes. The copper bracelet is twined around his wrist, looking slightly out of place with his expensive green robes. He can always wear it around his ankle if anyone notices.

"And you haven't just soothed the symptoms, you actually resolved the problem?" Her eyebrow arches—most definitely learned from Regulus.

"Since when did you become my mother? I'm perfectly healed, so fuck off."

Hermione rolls her eyes, pulling a giant textbook out of her backpack. "I finally got the birds to fly."

Hadrian slams his book shut. "And they do what you wish?"

"They even pluck out eyeballs." She grins. Hermione is always more adventurous when she's at home. Summer break is her most productive time, and it makes Hadrian look like a fucking amateur.

His senses stretch out across the library. Madam Pince at her desk, a smelly group of third years in the Quidditch section, and a handful of Ravenclaw/Slytherin study groups scattered on the other side.

"Did my father come over any time during the Hols?" Hadrian fingers twitch around his pencil.

Hermione blinks. "No." She says slowly. "What happened?"

Hadrian swallows and looks away. They're _not_ friends. He shouldn't tell her anything. Why does he always feel the need to tell her things?

"You left for good, didn't you?"

He nods once to the bookshelf to his left. Small fingers coax over his knuckles.

Hermione gives him a sympathetic look. "I'm not trying to be a nosy bitch."

"You're not." He clears his throat and takes his hand away. _Change the subject. _"Do you still talk with Ginny?"

"We exchange letters every couple of months. Please say you're not doing that thing again."

"Hermione, you truly believe me so stupid?"

She pauses, cocking her head to the side. "You've met someone, haven't you?"

"And that's even fucking stupider than before." He slams his book open to a passage about the toxicity of mamba venom and its use in poisons.

Hermione just smirks. "I'm going to work on my Transfiguration homework now."

"Fucking knock yourself out."

"Lovely words from you, cousin."

Around ten minutes pass, both working on their respective projects.

Hermione's textbook slams shut. "Have you been to the Muggle world, lately?"

Hadrian raises an eyebrow. "Yes and no. Have you?"

"They have these things called cell phones now, and their tellies have only gotten larger."

"Where is this coming from?"

She deflates. "Nowhere."

"You feel… like you don't belong there anymore."

"I don't know if I ever did. Regulus was right." She huffs. "And it's bloody annoying, the wanker."

"The Black heiress using such language, how outrageous." He deadpans.

Hermione laughs, but her features immediately somber once more. "You have to be living in it all the time, you know?"

He cocks his head to the side. "Often adults in any society will go 'obsolete' as they age, not knowing the slang or how to operate the newest fad invention."

"You're right, but I'm still young, you know? And they were laughing at me because of my clothes, even though Sirius had picked out a brand name jumper and trousers for me."

Hadrian chuckles. "You can't exactly trust a thirty-something year old gay wizard to know what's trendy for teenage Muggles, Hermione."

"I'm not stupid." Her voice goes small. "I know all about the newest scientific breakthroughs and the global climate. I read about Muggle politics every day!"

"Which means you're a nerd, Hermione. You're a nerd among magicals, and a nerd among Muggles. I am too. Get over it and move on."

She straightens. All trace of the small-spoken girl flies away like fog met by heavy wind. "Look at you, consoling me like the kind brother-figure you are!"

"Ugh." He rolls his eyes.

They both laugh. Not like Gryffindors - who laugh all the way from their belly and broadcast the sound waves off the walls - but like Slytherins. Small and inaudible, paired with the slightest twinkling of the eyes, maybe a slight quirking of the lips.

And maybe not.

o0o0o0o

**Holy fuck! The different demographic between AO3 and FF are crazy. I posted on Fanfic - a week later 16 follows. I posted on AO3 and a week later I'm up to 50 kudos!**

**Y'all are absolute gold. Thx to all the lovely comments/reviews.**

**Don't be afraid to ask for clarification for things you don't get. I've got a ton of backstory written for the story, and I have a habit of getting a bit too vague, lol.**

**Squee! Rien is out!**


	6. Professors and Gangrene

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 6 - _Professors and Gangrene_

"Do you think this new prof will be much like the last?" Pansy places tiny portions of the evening meal onto her plate. "Draco, are you even listening to me?"

Draco pulls back from staring at Blaise, giving Pansy a scowl. "As long as he doesn't falsely accuse my—Blaise, then we'll be fine."

"Of course, darling." She smirks.

Hadrian stares down at his food. There are four beans left on his toast. He cuts it into three equal pieces and places the fourth on the side of his plate. The date of the full moon seems to blood beneath his skin, January 22nd, January 22nd, January - don't forget. It will be a supermoon. Hadrian has to deal with them every year or so, and they're always unpredictable.

_Sweat, animals, blood dripping from his maw. It was only a rabbit, no worries, no worries._

He's chewing the last piece when Sherman cannonballs onto his lap, panting more like a dog than an owl.

"Your family's owl is such a freak, Potter." Blaise sneers.

Hadrian scowls, fighting the letter off of Sherman's leg.

_Dear __Harry_ _Hadrian,_

_Your father and I are very distraught. We thought we gave you everything. I love you, dear. Apparate over next weekend, and we can discuss this._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Mother (Lily)._

An odd, empty laugh scrapes from Hadrian's throat. Daphne wrinkles her nose across from him. Hadrian smiles at her, no emotion, and alights the parchment with a wandless incendio and no small amount of anger.

"Show us how you really feel, Potter." Daphne says.

He holds the smile for a couple seconds too long. She swallows and looks away.

There's no logic to staying. Hadrian's chair scrapes loudly against the stone. He strides out of the Great Hall. Hermione must still be holed up in the library. And she likes to get on his case for missing meals, hypocrite.

Hadrian swings by the Potions classroom on his way to the dorms. It's mostly to procrastinate. His potion won't need supervision until it reaches the second stage, and that's a week away.

It swirls bright purple in the corner, aconite traces full in view. This time it will work. He's done all the calculations seven times over.

The potion reeks of skunk cabbage and swamp. He wrinkles his nose and recasts the security enchantments.

His bedroom seems hollow tonight. It's only ten o'clock, but Hadrian's bones ache, and breathing is difficult. It's only going to get worse. He tries not to let the dread rise in his stomach.

Hadrian steps out of his robes. Slips into thin cotton pajamas. The lights flicker off, and he scoots back onto the bed.

The copper bracelet grasps his forearm, its wires lovingly scraped against skin. He whispers the single magic word, and it releases, falling onto the thin duvet.

A scream barrels through his throat. Emotions bite across his body, anger and _want_, passion and hatred. He was stupid to think that at seventeen he'd felt it all.

Nails dig into the bedframe, splinters piercing palms. His brain grows heavy, threatening explosion. His skull presses against his eyes.

No matter how many times he yells, it won't die until it's done.

It seems as if hours have passed, maybe days, but it's been only five minutes. His watch ticks innocently, laughing in its rhythm. Hadrian's fingers shake as he loosens the clasp and throws it down beside the bracelet.

He pulls his pillow and blanket from the bed. Has to take a deep breath before fumbling his trunk open.

A set of deep stairs appear at the bottom of the empty vessel. Hadrian clutches his blanket around his body. Why is it so fucking cold?

The room inside his trunk is small, bordered with heavy bookshelves stuffed full and arranged according the Dewey Decimal system. Hadrian pulls the lid shut behind himself. Clicks on the only lamp, casting an orange glow.

The only other piece of furniture is the cot in the middle of the room. Hadrian's feet scuff along the carpeted floor. He breathes in the smell of _nothing_. No one has been here but him. No distractions or threats to worry about.

He curls up on the cot.

What would happen if he never left? No owl could reach him here, nothing but… the fucking bond, and Hermione would probably find him eventually, and the drama would be too much.

Hadrian hits his head back on the dark wood wall in three reps of seven sets. Then he'll feel better.

He doesn't feel better.

But the next night he manages a plunge into his mindscape before the emotions take hold. It still hurts like hell, but… not like Hell.

It's only a matter of time. He'll break it soon. He just has to research more, sleep less.

It's only a matter of time.

o0o0o0o

Monday comes much too fast. The bracelet's aftershocks consistently leave Hadrian late to bed and early to rise. Draco and Blaise reek of sex and Terry Boot of mind-enhancing potions. Someone brought marijuana into the castle this weekend, and the scent follows Hadrian wherever he goes.

He slips into his seat beside Hermione. She grimaces at his face. "How's the project coming along?"

"Fucking swell."

She frowns further and lowers her voice, "You can ask for help, you know?"

"I've got it, Hermione."

"If you say so, cousin."

Their new Prof strides into the room. He's late twenties, early thirties at most, with handsome, light features, and blond hair that curls into dozens of ringlets. Pansy and Daphne exchange a look and begin scribbling notes to each other. Why does Hadrian always end up sitting behind them?

"Good morning, class. My name is Marvolo Riddle. You will address me as Professor Riddle or Sir." A piece of chalk floats in front of the board, scraping the name in powdery white. "You were covering werewolves, fae, and vampire in the fall quarter, yes?"

"Yes, sir." The Slytherins ring out. A handful of students jump, managing to mouth the last word.

"Good." Riddle smiles, dimples boring into each cheek. "Because now we're moving onto Defensive Dueling. You won't need another textbook - I'll let you know the five spells you are to research before each class."

Hermione straightens in her chair.

"How many of you have ever duelled before?" Riddle's gaze snaps onto Hadrian, whose hand remains at his side. It may be seventh year, but only around a quarter of the students raise their hands.

Hermione frowns at him, her own fingers nearly brushing the ceiling. Hadrian feels _stupid_. It's not that he's bad with practical applications, but duelling needs an actual partner, preferably one that doesn't spill your weaknesses around the castle.

"Fascinating. Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter, please join me at the front."

Flying fucks. A fucking dueling exhibition with no fucking prewarning. Hadrian strides to the front, his shoulders pulled back, chin raised. Draco walks with a limp.

"Dueling etiquette is important to know; however, it is not so important to remember when someone is throwing curses at you." Riddle seems to float beside Hadrian, his lips just a little too close to his ear. "Do you know what to do?"

Riddle's scent shouldn't be so faint. He smells of cologne, no indicators of actually being alive. A mystery for another time. Hadrian grits his teeth. "Yes."

Draco's wand is held diagonal in front of his face, feet planted one slightly ahead of the other. A well-trained pureblood heir. Hadrian mimics the stance.

"Bow."

The two wizards do so.

"Attack."

Draco flicks out three wordless spells in the course of a second, his face passive. Hadrian dodges left and right, then lifts his wand.

Bright green hurtles towards the Malfoy heir. Draco freezes, fear stamping across his face. The audience isn't silent either.

Time moving at ice age pace, Hadrian outstretches his hand, wandlessly mobilcorpusing Draco flat onto the ground. The magic hits the wall and fizzles out.

"You fucking idiot." Hadrian spits. "It was raw magic, not the fucking killing curse, and you stood there waiting to die?"

Draco pushes himself onto his feet, hands shaking.

Professor Riddle's eyebrows raise, but those blue eyes hold a twinkle. Does he fucking get off on failure? "Mr. Potter. You had to know that was… misleading."

"I don't duel, Professor, _ever_. I'm sorry I couldn't tickle jinx off the top of my head."

Riddle's lips upturn in what should look like a smile. "10 points from Slytherin. Back to your seats."

Draco nearly falls on his way through the aisle. Blaise's arm curls around his lover's waist, keeping him upright. The Zabini heir throws an unmistakable glare Hadrian's direction.

"I've never seen anyone do that before." Hermione whispers, and of course she would look excited at the prospect. "Have you always been able to do that?"

"It's not that useful when your magic looks like the killing curse."

She wrinkles her nose. "It doesn't really, though. It's the colour of your eyes, and they're darker than the curse."

"Brilliant observation, Miss Black." Professor Riddle appears beside them.

Hadrian stifles a jump. He's not usually so fucking oblivious. Barely a scent or a footstep, is Riddle under a notice-me-not?

"In a couple of weeks we'll be seeing if any of you can recreate what Mr. Potter seems to do effortlessly. Being able to cast pure magic is a skill few have, so I hope you'll pay attention." A hand pats Hadrian's shoulder, long, elegant fingers momentarily wrapped over his robes.

Hadrian's breath only returns when Riddle moves away. The Professor introduces the most common defensive spells - shielding, expellimarius, and three others.

"I won't bore you with this first lesson. I do; however, expect you to find another student to practice and master these spells with before next class. My office hours are 7-9 on weekdays. Off with you, then." Riddle smiles with perfectly white teeth, and Pansy visibly swoons.

Hadrian shoves his books into his bag, looping the fabric over his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter, stay behind please."

This isn't the first time a teacher asked him to stay after, but it's usually because he did something _too well_.

"You made this bracelet yourself?" Riddle's fingers loop around Hadrian's wrist, burning like hot metal.

Hadrian stutters backwards, mouth pursed and searching to regain his balance. "All due respect, sir; please don't touch me."

And then Riddle smirks for just a second too long, and the realization floods Hadrian like a fucking wrecking ball.

"For a _boy_ that prides himself on his intelligence, you can quite dense." Minister Gaunt's features morph into view for a split second, then suck back into light blond.

"Well I didn't bloody expect my professor -" Hadrian stops himself. Takes a deep breath. "Why did you ask me after class?"

"You're suppressing it, Mr. Potter, and that only brings one thing."

Hadrian lets himself scowl. "I've got a test to study for."

Thomas - Gaunt steps forward, and Hadrian inadvertently steps back into the wall. He's trapped like a fucking cow in a slaughterhouse.

"I'm sure you're already an expert in the material, no?" Long fingers slide down Hadrian's cheek. Gaunt's scent must be triggered with knowledge, because the oppressive scent of pears fucking invades Hadrian's nose like a gopher.

He juts his chin out. "Minister Gaunt -"

"I thought I asked you to call me Thomas?"

Hadrian grits his teeth.

Gaunt takes a step back. Fresh air surrounds Hadrian. Was it really so hard to breathe? "I have a proposition for you."

Hadrian shoves his features into submission and lifts an eyebrow.

"Stay bonded to me."

The minutes tick away.

This man is the Minister of the British Wizarding World; Hadrian should really watch his mouth - "Was that all? There _are _ways to break it without your consent."

Thomas' face darkens. "And I'll put the majority of the Ministry resources into finding the cure to werewolfism."

Hadrian laughs. "Really? You think that's what I want?"

"You need to stop deluding yourself, little wolf." Thomas says slowly, like he's talking to a child.

Hadrian hasn't been a fucking child since he was eight years old. "I'm fairly positive -"

"Not with Optimus Sui. It's one of the only methods to override consent. The bond already settled between us." _Whether you like it or not. _

Irrational, but Hadrian wants to scream. Maybe beat the walls (or Gaunt) with his fists. Fuck, he wants to wrap his hands around the _Minister's_ neck. Then he straightens. "I could use this against you."

"And vice versa, _Hadrian_, but will you?"

"I'm leaving for Norway the second McGonagall hands me my diploma."

Gaunt's eyes flicker across Hadrian's face, making it burn. "So be it. We can handle long distance."

Hadrian fingers his bag - fucking Gaunt and his scent. Who the fuck smells like pears? "You're on something."

"Goodbye, Mr. Potter."

Hadrian tries to stride to the door, but it comes out more like speed walking. He slams the door behind him and runs down the hallway. He's trying to catch up with Hermione, yeah, that's why he's running, no other reason whatsoever.

He turns the corner and spots that brown curly hair and Slytherin uniform.

Hadrian quickens his steps, not enough to look like he's hurrying, but enough to catch up with her.

She tries to tuck her hair behind her ears. It boings free and falls over her forehead. "How do you feel about Professor Riddle?"

He nearly stumbles. "I'd rather he hadn't humiliated me in front of the entire seventh year class."

She purses her mouth, bushy hair shaking with the extent of her frown. "You could've refused."

"We both know that would've been worse."

"For all your talk of how you don't care about people's opinions -"

"Don't you dare say it."

"Hypocrite."

"I'm not like them. I was never like them." His nails elongate, digging into his palms.

"Cousin, everyone cares somewhat. Some people are just better at pretending."

"I won't need to pretend when I'm a recluse."

Hermione's hand gently clasps around his bicep. He lifts his chin, eye to eye at 1 and ¾ metres tall.

"You're always so convinced you don't need a single person in your life. Someday -" Her eyes roll back, and she slumps into his chest. Quick thinking has his hands on her waist, slowing her descent to the ground.

"Hermione?" Hadrian scans the area. Nobody. His wand flickers through sets of runes, determining the curse - stupefy and gangrene. The scent of rotten eggs wrinkles his nose, his heart slamming against his chest.

"Fuck." He shakes himself. There's only a couple of minutes. Her skin is turning green at the wrist, the colour climbing up her arm. He can smell the beginning of decomposition.

Hadrian shakes. Places one hand above her heart and another on her ribcage. His mind screams pages of deaths and failures.

"_Zaubia mia en tua aderna_." His magic sucks away from his veins, nausea left pumping in its wake. He sways. Plants his knees on the ground and directs the spell.

Hermione's green flush slips away achingly slow. Each tick of the clock leaves Hadrian more lightheaded and seasick, but he holds fast.

A voice yells. Someone's arm curls around his waist, but they don't pull him away. He's steadied. The load is slightly easier to bear.

Finally Hermione's pink tone takes over. Hadrian slumps back and lets the someone keep him from falling. He shouldn't rely on other people, but they're warm and _nice_. Cold blackness fights for control.

"He's fading fast."

"Magical exhaustion. My goodness, I haven't seen the like since Grindelwald. Get him on the bed."

"What was he fighting?" Magic sweeps over his body, over-sugared and sharp, like a knife pressed against skin but not breaking it.

"Someone cast the gangrena curse on Hermione Granger. It _should've_ killed her." The voice is male and musing. That hand is still there, curled around Hadrian's wrist. Blackness beats through his body like blood.

"We're going to need a heavy stabilizer."

"I'll do it."

"Professor Riddle, do you understand the -"

"_Pomfrey_."

"I'll be a witness. Get on with it, then."

The male voice lowers to a whisper, "What did you use as a password, little wolf? Moon, Black," something burrows behind Hadrian's eyeballs. More pain, always more pain. "I see, _Jörmungandr_."

A flood crashes through Hadrian's eardrums. The pain switch has flipped. He writhes and screams. There's nothing but -

_Hermione's nearly -_

_Hot teeth slamming into his neck -_

_You turned him, Remus! Why the fuck did you leave the door-_

_I didn't. Honest - _

_You turned our little boy._

_Fuck you._

_James -_

_Remus killed himself._

_The beast bloody deserved it -_

Just when Hadrian can't take any more, the voices silence. A warmth swirls through his brain. The pain sucks away.

He sleeps.

o0o0o0o

**Aw mawh gawsh! I can't even. Stop, just stop being the best. I've never had a story be so popular, so thank you all! Reviews bring so much joy:)**

**XOXO to the lovelies that read and enjoy! (The other lovelies need to not read if the latter doesn't occur. Serious tho, why?)**


	7. Rotten Eggs

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 7 - _Rotten Eggs_

Acidic cleaning and healing potions buzz at Hadrian's nose like alcohol against an open cut. Heavy robes rustle nearby, wafting the smell of _human-soap-woman_. Light slams against his eyeballs, and he blinks rapidly. Madam Pomfrey's kind face breaks out into a small smile. He must've nearly died.

"'Bout time you roused, Mr. Potter. You've been out for two days." She adjusts the pillow behind him. Bustles over to the cupboard and pulls out three different coloured potions.

The Healing Wing smells continue to bombard his sensitive nose and mouth, burning the skin. He shifts and tries to adjust.

"Is Hermione well?"

Pomfrey turns to him, mouth pursed. "Miss Black is perfectly fine, perhaps in better health than before that curse hit her thanks to you. Drink up."

He does so without comment, keeping his face placid throughout the horrid tastes of sugar and anis, swamp and pastries. "Blood replenishing, core healing, and nourishment."

"Very good. Now, you'll be out of here in a day or two, if all goes well. How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a train."

Her mouth quirks. "Considering the amount of power you pushed into Miss Black's body, it's no wonder."

"Did they find who cursed her?"

"No." She frowns. "But the headmistress called in a team of aurors to investigate, and the Blacks hired a bodyguard for her until the attempting murderer is caught."

Have they been sitting on their fucking willies this whole time? Hadrian breathes deeply _1-2-3_, forcing himself to relax into the pillows. Oversaturated sunlight spills through the many latticed windows, and he's already twitchy under Madam Pomfrey's scrutiny.

What if the person who cursed Hermione tries to go after Hadrian? Did anyone fucking think of that?

"Do you feel well enough for visitors?" She asks gently.

He swallows, attempting to plant himself in the present. "Depends on who it is?"

"Professor Riddle went above and beyond for you, while you were in that critical state. We had to temporarily bind his magic with yours so you wouldn't nip off to the afterlife. It's unbound now, of course."

_Of course_ is a lie from fucking Gaunt.

Madam Pomfrey seems to take his frantic silence as assent, because she gestures the "Professor" in and disappears into her office.

Gaunt's steps are even, his gaze heavy as he approaches. "And here I thought you weren't a Gryffindor."

Hadrian turns his head. This fucktard doesn't dignify a response.

A hand curls around his wrist; Hadrian twitches. Perfectly ripe pears against his tongue, colours beaming, full of loud scents. Within seconds he's more frustrated and miserable than before, helpless like a fucking _child_ against the onslaught. Lemon anger curls through his stomach.

Gaunt leans forward. "We had to take off your little repressor band. I'm sure you'll be wanting that back?"

"You _fucking_ bastard." Hadrian bites out. He'll have to take Silent-Treatment Expert off of his resumé. Gaunt's scent clouds his senses; he wants to bask in it and squirm away, inhale or spit it out.

"Look at me." The Minister's fingers snatch around his chin, and now Hadrian has to stare at "Riddle's" features. He's too fucking tired for this.

Hadrian shakes away the grip and leans away. "I'm not some fucking plaything, _sir_. And we both know I wasn't going to die - we were fucking _bonded_ in December."

Gaunt pulls back. Sits down on the edge of Hadrian's bed. It's still too close. "You realize what happens when a bondmate dies?"

"We're not mates." But Hadrian's mind churns through the information. They haven't been bonded that long, hell, he didn't even know what it was until a couple of weeks ago, but - "At least I would've taken you down with me."

"You're a _child_." Gaunt hisses. His hand curls around Hadrian's calf, and Hadrian arches off the bed. _Overwhelmed-lust-possession_ \- what belongs to whom?

Movement sounds from Pomfrey's office. Gaunt takes his hand away just in time for Pomfrey to bustle in.

"About time for some more rest, Mr. Potter. It's nice to have such dedicated teachers, isn't it?"

Gaunt stands, awaiting Hadrian's response with laughter in his eyes and _his_ amusement tickling inside Hadrian's belly.

"Sure thing, Madam Pomfrey." Hadrian bites out.

Gaunt's smile imprints on his eyelids. He'll be stronger next time, better. He's not at _toy_.

o0o0o0o

"Hadrian, you bloody fool." Hermione sweeps into the room, trailed by a stocky young wizard in duelling robes. Her grace remains until she is around a metre away, at which point she throws her arms around his neck.

It's suffocating, yet… nice. "Hermione."

She pulls back and sits on his bed - right where Gaunt was just a couple hours ago. "You nearly killed yourself."

"And you nearly got _yourself_ killed."

Hermione sniffs. "Some coward striking when my back is turned is nothing I _deserved_." Her wrists jingle with dozens of jeweled bangles.

"Sirius getting a bit obsessive now?" He gestures to her wrists.

"Ugh, I don't want to think about the amount of money he's been spending. Regulus is not much better. I'm afraid to eat food with a high fat content - the protections might make me vomit for fear of my cholesterol."

A laugh scrapes through Hadrian's voice box. He winces as an oily wave of nausea floods over him. If he was in the trunk he'd let himself puke in the waste bin.

"Anyway." Hermione swings her green book bag off of her shoulder. Takes out Hadrian's textbooks like fucking Mary Poppins. "I got your homework assignments."

"Any essays?"

"Only a one footer for Herbology. They've been going easy since the attack." She shifts, her chest rising and falling a bit too fast.

"_Hermione_."

She turns to him, biting her lip. "It's ridiculous."

"They attacked you in a fucking school hallway. It's _not_ ridiculous."

Her arms raise. She shakes them, watching the light fling rainbows from the gemstones. "You can never be protected from all the spells."

"They'll be found and recompensed for their crimes." Hadrian promises.

Hermione blinks at him. She gives her guard a glare and he backs up a couple steps. She whispers, "I don't need you to be my knight _again_, cousin."

"No one said anything about _your_ needs."

Her mouth purses, but that seems to be the right answer, because she leans back. "Regulus wanted to visit you when you got well."

"Tell him to make it quick."

She laughs. "Someday you're going to need their expertise."

"Sure."

"I'll firecall him." Hermione sweeps away from the bed, striding over to Pomfrey's office and giving the door a solid knock.

"Yes, dear?"

"May I firecall my father?"

"Go right ahead." Pomfrey seems to apparate from one side of the room to the next, ascertaining that everything is safe and preparing paperwork.

Hadrian can never quite prepare himself for the suddenness of Hermione's decisions. He prides himself on hours mulling and careful debate. She likes snap ruling and enjoys his scrambling. He's _unprepared _and still exhausted. Having a conversation with Regulus is not something he'll enjoy.

Five minutes later, Hermione and her bodyguard duck out of the hospital wing. She gives him a large smile that's not all sincere.

Regulus's hands are clasped behind his fitted black robes, fucking _Spock_. He scans Hadrian's form. It's only been a day, but Hadrian is so fucking done with looking like an invalid. He wants to be standing, on equal ground and with the energy for verbal jabs.

He's not on the top of his game. It makes him want to strangle things.

"You're not the wizard I thought you were." Regulus drags a chair beside Hadrian's bedside. For all his calm exterior and rhythmic breathing, his face is a bit too placid. Overcompensating - lemongrass and mint wafting from his moving robes.

Hadrian knocks his head against the bedframe and stares up at the ceiling. "Why haven't you demanded McGonagall interrogate every student in the castle?"

Regulus cock his head to the side, jet-black hair falling into his eyes. "You think I should?"

"She's your _kid_ and lived through what should've been a death sentence of a curse. Where the fuck is the calvary?"

"My daughter owes you a life debt."

"No she fucking doesn't."

"Don't be such a Gryffindor-"

"Why does everyone think that's an insult? And I'm not denying that my actions would result in a life debt, the only issue is that I previously owed one to Hermione."

Regulus leans back. "I'm sure you won't explain further."

"You would be correct; now answer my fucking question."

"Mouthy." Regulus' mouth twitches. "We both know the aurors are only a formality. This is not something to be dealt with through legal channels."

Hadrian smirks. "You're letting them believe they got away with it."

"And leaving the honours to you."

"So that I'm the one that gets the blame?"

Regulus needs to blink sometime in the next century. "You're not one to leave behind evidence. Montgomery just couldn't keep his mouth shut about werewolves, could he?"

"There's plenty of groups he alienated."

Regulus leans back with a grin. "Only a few are as skilled in runes."

"Does Hermione send home my report cards now?" He must be talking about the runes in Montgomery's room, or he wouldn't be talking about leaving behind evidence. _Calm-breathe normally-eye contact._

A guffaw. "No. I'm on the Board of Education. Every year we're made aware of the top students in each subject. You come up multiple times a year."

When are students ever told their grades will be shared with every pocket-heavy Pureblood skulking around the education system? Maybe there's a spell that will obscure it. Some procrastinating Gryffindor ought to have invented it.

"I'll leave you to rest, then. Life debt or no, if you need help, don't be afraid to ask."

Hadrian can't think of anything to say that isn't rude or painful, so he simply nods. Regulus pats his leg (where Gaunt touched him just hours ago), and heads back into Pomfrey's office.

o0o0o0o

When Madam Pomfrey finally lets him out of jail, Hadrian is ready to rip his own hair out. He goes to lunch instead. A wave of gossip floods the Great Hall with his entrance. Hadrian strides forward, letting the overwhelming scents of teenagers and lunch foods cloud his senses. Rotten eggs is not a smell associated with the gangrene curse, at least not at the stage Hermione's was in. Whomever this scent belongs to is the culprit.

"About fucking time, Potter." Blaise says. Draco watches, his eyes slightly too wide.

"Sorry to have deprived you of my presence for the last four days, truly." Hadrian grins, holding Draco's gaze until the blond looks away. "I'm sure you all were _so_ distraught."

"Have you seen Auror Michaelson?" Pansy squeals to Daphne, obviously the most sorrowful of them all.

Daphne rolls her eyes. "The only auror so stupid as to flirt with schoolgirls?"

"Hey, at least I'm not hench, bitch." Pansy giggles.

Daphne sniffs. "I'm about as hench as Hagrid wasn't a dangerous teacher."

"I don't get it."

Gaunt sits at the teacher's table, blue eyes boring into Hadrian. A flush of possession and lust seeps through Hadrian's body. His knuckles turn white around the table, and he steadies himself against a sway. His cock hardens, obscured under his robes. He shovels food onto his plate.

_James Potter's beer gut seeping over his pants, the man half falling off of the couch, erping every few minutes. _

His erection goes down.

Straighten your back. Raise your chin. Hadrian connects eyes with Gaunt once more. Those fucking stupid ringlets should be burned.

Hadrian needs to approach him to get his bracelet back. All that work to beg like a fucking dog.

"Did you see the guy that did it?" Draco asks quietly. Blaise raises an eyebrow at his lover, then turns to Hadrian.

"Coward struck from behind." Meats spread evenly across the plate. An inch thick smear of potatoes overtop. Sprinkling of seven corns.

Draco continues talking. Hadrian ignores him, scanning the tables. The perpetrator wasn't a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw. The smell of rotten eggs is only slight. It was stronger when he entered.

Hermione slips in beside him. "Hello."

"Happy to have your Saviour back, Black?" Blaise snickers.

"Quite." She says coldly. Turns to Hadrian, "Do you think he's just jealous of your dashing good looks, or if he's struggling under the weight of a unrequited love?"

Hadrian gives her a small smile, watching the disgust seep across Blaise's features, the Italian's heartbeat giving little rabbit beats.

"Need your cousin to fight all your battles, Potter?"

Hadrian chews his final bite. "I find it humorous that your first-year nonsensical insults are _called_ battles. Good day."

His chair scrapes back across the floor and he nods to Hermione to take his leave. A good portion of the Great Hall follows him with their eyes. What used to be the Gryffindor foursome of idiots, Dean, Seamus, Anthony, and Ron, now consists of three, Ron's spot a gaping hole between Seamus and Anthony.

He strides over to Neville Longbottom and whispers in his ear, "Is the pelia feralis poisonous?" Rotten eggs from across the table. Seamus scowls and turns to Dean, who rolls his eyes and goes back to his food.

Neville freezes, his fork clattering against his plate. "Um no, it's uh- but it attacks if you approach quickly."

"Thanks, Longbottom." He claps the Neville heavy on the shoulder. Straightens.

Seamus glares at him from across the table. "If you ask me, the guy that attacked Hermione should've aimed a little to the right."

Hadrian smiles. "How do you know it was a guy, Finnigan? Or that he aimed to the right or the left?"

Finnigan flushes. "It's not fucking rocket science. I saw you two in the hallway on the way to Charms."

"Really, you bigoted arse?"

Finnigan grits his teeth. "Get the fuck away from us, Potter." So easy to rile up.

"Is there a problem here?" Gaunt looms over the redhead, hands on Seamus' shoulders. His eyes bore into Hadrian.

"None at _all_, sir." Hadrian says. And it's true, because he's found the source of the scent.

"So Mr. Finnigan wasn't stating that a deadly curse should've struck you instead of Hermione Black?"

All colour leeches from Finnigan's face.

"Definitely not, sir." Hadrian smirks.

A final harsh clap against the Gryffindor's shoulders. "Alright then." Gaunt practically saunters away. _Curiosity-lust-satisfaction_ waves itself through Hadrian's body.

He heads to the dungeons before another Gryffindor can put their foot in mouth, fucking idiots. Gaunt's emotions ricochet through Hadrian's body, which reacts like the weak thing it is.

It's like all those fucking Muggle movies where the aliens take over, controlling the weak humans until the FBI agents step in to save the day. Hadrian won't be a fucking weak human. He forces his erection down with pure mind power.

"You're what, too good to visit the invalid?" Hadrian leans against the doorframe of the Potions' classroom, grinning.

Snape casts a status spell on the cauldron he's leaning over. He sneers. "Milking it for whatever it's worth, Mr. Potter?"

"Simply missing your scintillating company, Professor."

Snape gestures Hadrian over. "Your potion has undergone two stages since you went under."

Hadrian's skin prickles. He swallows and tries not to rush over to the corner. It looks like someone poured a layer of gasoline over the surface of his potion, an oily rainbow covering the top like icing on a cake. "The vremena and basia stages?"

"Indeed." The taller man's presence behind him tickles the back of his neck with heat and magic. "Madam Pomfrey released you without complaints?"

Hadrian turns. Lifts his chin and stares into deep black eyes. "None whatsoever, _sir_."

"Professor Riddle informed me you were recovering adequately."

"And you took his word for it?" Hadrian cocks his head to the side, examining Severus' sharp features, the black eyes and hooked nose. Snape attempts to stifle a wince.

"I'm afraid there wasn't much choice in the matter."

Hadrian swallows. Turns back to his potion. "Tomorrow I'm sending it through the fourth stage."

"What do you intend to use as a catalyst?"

"Irish lizard flakes."

"I see. You intend to control for salinity?"

Hadrian takes a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

A large, potion-stained hand rests on his shoulder. "I'm sure you're aware my loyalty was pledged years ago?"

"I understand, _Professor_. No need to make excuses." Hadrian doesn't understand. He's spent years working on being the best at potions and runes, but his perception of politics is zero to nil. It's never been part of the plan. His throat burns.

Snape spins him around, and Hadrian lets him. His hands weigh down Hadrian's shoulders, eyes lasering across his figure.

"I know you don't trust me now."

"It's common knowledge that I don't trust anyone."

"I visited you every night and checked your vitals."

"Show us how you really feel." Does that somehow assuage his guilt? Hadrian will never be Snape's child. Snape will never be a mentor with which he can share his inventions. They'll never be friends.

"If you had died -"

"But I didn't, sir."

Snape releases Hadrian's shoulders. "Detention with me, Mr Potter, Friday night at 7."

"On what charges?" Hadrian's lips quirk up.

"Being a self-sacrificing brat. I've got some bloodwort tails that need to be minced."

Hadrian rolls his eyes. "See you then, Professor."

Snape practically pushes him out the door, no doubt embarrassed at his outburst. No matter how many time Hadrian calls him Professor, Snape is more of a tentative ally. He's been giving Hadrian detentions since fourth year, and he hasn't treated him like a child since.

Hadrian would have gotten an E on his Potions OWL without him, but his inventions wouldn't have gotten so far, so fast.

He sighs. There's still one more place he has to go before refuge can be taken in his room.

Professor Riddle is housed in the same room as Montgomery was. It amuses Hadrian a bit too much to know he's been inside the current room of the _Minister_. He's cursed one defense professor, what's another?

Too bad this one's not a fucking idiot.

The door creaks open. "_Hadrian_." The way Gaunt pronounces Hadrian's name never stops being weird, like he's savouring the word in his mouth. "Come in."

_Don't be an idiot. Stand your ground. "_What do you want in exchange for my bracelet?"

"Sit down." Gaunt leads him into a sitting room. It's relatively small, a large bookshelf stuffed to the brim in the corner, two armchairs next to the fireplace and a coffee table in between. A barrier. It's Hadrian's fucking lucky day.

Gaunt drapes himself across one of the velvety green armchairs like it's a throne, one leg thrown over the armrest, chin on his hand. "Tell me the story of how you became a werewolf."

"And you'll give me my fucking bracelet back?" Hadrian teeters on the edge of his seat. He'd rather prostrate on the floor.

Gaunt nods with a hint of smirk. The firelight gives his eyes a red hue.

"And what makes you think I can't simply make another?"

"It took you three weeks to make the original."

Hadrian's muscles pull taut, hands fisting at his sides. "I was eight and my godfather's lover bit me."

A heavy laugh pierces from Gaunt's throat. "You're a seventh year, Hadrian. I'm sure you can remember to use your words."

There are so many better places to be, but Hadrian isn't stupid, or weak. This information can't hurt him. Hadrian finds a spot on the wall and speaks, "My parents' tenth anniversary, I was eight, so it was decided I go to Sirius' house for the night. It just so happened to be the night of the full moon, and everyone decided to be fucking idiots and not inform me.

Remus was Sirius' partner. They'd never married, but had been together since high school. Sirius built a 'comfy' dungeon for Remus when they moved in together. Remus was afraid of hurting people. His parents were bigots." Fucking stay on track. This man doesn't need more information.

Gaunt's stare lasers into Hadrian's body.

He twitches and turns to the fireplace. "That night Remus locked himself up. Sirius was meant to keep me occupied, but I'm not a fucking Gryffindor. He freaked me out with a prank. I managed to accidental magic him to the couch and run away.

I got lost on the way to my room. Their house was too fucking big and everything looked the same." Inhale. Exhale. "I found the dungeon. It was locked, but I was still upset. It opened. Remus bit me. I screamed. Sirius found me and magicked Remus back into the room."

"When Remus woke up the next morning, he heard what he had done. My parents told him all the fucking stupid things his parents always had, how he was a monster, a fucking beast that should've been put down. So he killed himself. There, are you fucking happy now?"

"How did it make you feel?"

Hadrian sneers. "What part?" Don't make me talk anymore.

"Your parents blame werewolfism, but you know the real reason it happened, don't you?"

"Because of the fucking 'Light' Ministers abolishing all ability for werewolves to properly accept themselves and become functioning members of society?"

Gaunt smiles. There's too much sincerity. His teeth are fucking gleaming. Blue eyes look red in the firelight. "Have you ever discussed this with your parents?"

"My father is a dirty auror; you think he cares about werewolf rights?"

A raised eyebrow. Why the fuck did Hadrian say that?

"Yet you risk your life for a snake you don't know."

"Fucking hell." His feet hit the floor. Hadrian wants to leave. Wants to stay. Wants to yell. Calm the fuck down and retain hold of the conversation.

Hadrian sits. "I'd have thought with the strength of your _feelings_, your animagus form would be more… colourful."

Gaunt rises from his seat. He looms over Hadrian, hands planted on the armrests of the chair, reeking of pears and ink. "Don't be shy, love. Your wolf is beautiful."

"You're insane." Hadrian's voice shakes.

Gaunt smiles once more. Slowly presses his hand against Hadrian's cheek. Hadrian lets the colours burst behind closed eyelids, and feels more energized than he has in weeks.

Then Gaunt lets go.

Hadrian pushes past him, empty, a twist of humiliation in his stomach. "I gave you my half of the deal."

Sharp blue eyes flicker like blades across his face. "And I do not break deals." His words are laughable at best.

Gaunt turns away, pulling open a drawer with whispered words in the serpents' tongue. A shiver runs down Hadrian's spine. Snakes are disgusting creatures, that's why.

Hadrian reaches for the copper bracelet.

"Allow me, little wolf."

An unwilling arm stretches out. He wants to be near and yet far. It's like a fucking romance novel. The white noise of Gaunt's presence snaps away with the clasp.

The Minister curls his fingers around Hadrian's wrist. His mind is silent now, or it should be. His stomach lurches. Perhaps he's getting ill.

"I can see you wish to take your leave."

Hadrian allows a small nod.

"And I grant you it, little wolf."

Hadrian steps back, his lungs empty, legs unsteady.

Gaunt's presence seems to have seeped through Hadrian's body like heavy incense. No matter how hard he scrubs - it won't go away.

Hadrian can't be entirely sure he wants it to.

The next morning a letter arrives on Sherman's leg.

_Harry, _

_Your father finalized it today at the bank. I'm sorry it had to happen this way. (illegible scribbles)_

_If you think you can get anything from us, you can't. Find a new last name. That trust you were supposed to get? I think a property in Switzerland would be a better use of the money. _

_You can still smarten up. Take Wolfsbane like a good boy and come back home. Just do what we ask of you. It's not much. _

_You're disinherited. _

_Have fun with your new life,_

_James Potter._

Hadrian burns the letter with a spell. Daphne is not as astonished this time.

That weekend he goes to Hogsmeade and sends a letter through the Muggle mail. Petunia writes back to say that she doesn't give a fuck what he does, just don't bother her family with his freakishness.

He gets the papers and changes his name to Evans, the Muggle way. It's still being put through the system. He'll have to brew a potion to change his name magically.

Hadrian plots - like all good Slytherins do.

The Gryffindor will experience pain enough for that they've delivered. He'll make sure of it.

o0o0o0o

**Thank you all for such lovely comments/reviews last chapter:) Woot woot! We've reached 200 kudos, the most I've ever had:)**

**It's really important to me that the pacing be right for this story. This will probably **

**be the slowest slow burn I can manage. Both Gaunt and Hadrian will need to change a lot in order to ever be compatible. **

**Squee! Thank you, my literate lovelies:D **


	8. Revenge of the Gryff

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 8 - _Revenge of the Gryff_

It's no secret where Gryffindor tower lies. Nothing with Gryffindors ever is.

Hadrian dons his invisibility cloak and waits for an unsuspecting Gryff to belt out the password. Curfew is in five minutes, no doubt someone is rushing back from a rendez-vous, lover or library.

Within five minutes a blond sixth year bounces along, a secretive smirk on her lips. Coconut perfume wafts with every step she takes. Hadrian slips in through the open door.

The Gryffindor common room is a blaze of motion and noise, and it's easy to pinpoint the calm within the storm.

Anthony Goldstein is holed up in the corner of the common room, a book balanced on his knees, but his ears tuned to every piece of gossip swirling about. The boy should've been in Slytherin.

Hadrian wants to fucking curse him right now and get it over with, but there's too many eyes. Hadrian leans against the wall to wait it out.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown pour over Muggle fashion magazine, giggling about the group of boys engaged in a loud game of exploding snap. The amount of noise is so high it seems to shake the room, like waves off of hot pavement. Slytherin doesn't get this loud even if there's a party.

Seamus Finnigan shouts, jumping up from the game. "I'm done with this bloody game. Gonna hit the hay."

The three other boys murmur insincere goodnights.

Anthony flickers his eyes up to the spectacle and puts his book down. Nobody bothers with a goodbye for _him_. As they should.

Hadrian's noiseless gait follows the two Gryffindors, barely making it through the heavy door before it slams shut. The scent of feet, body odor, and semen permeates the room. Hadrian makes his breaths short and shallow.

Seamus pulls his robes over his head, causing Anthony's feet to stutter on their way to his trunk. The two exchange a glance halfway between dressing. Hadrian smiles. So fucking easy.

Seamus clears his throat. "My da was worse this Christmas. Couldn't stop trying to set me up with a nice pureblood girl."

Anthony swallows. "The deal with Black didn't work out?"

"Na, Lord Black refused."

Anthony drops his trousers, then his pants. Turns to Seamus. "You should lock the door."

For fuck's sake. A yew wand raises inside an invisibility cloak. The light goes out. Only dim moonlight from the window peeks through, enough just for werewolf eyes.

"Getting quick to business, aren't you?" Seamus says.

… "I didn't do that."

Hadrian's spell curls through the air, hitting Anthony dead in the back.

"Every hour he's paranoid until the moment he falls asleep. Then he'll experience tremendous pain, but won't find the words to explain what he feels. He'll forget about it when he wakes up, with only the slightest bit of deja vu. Everyday of his fucking life." Hadrian can't help smirking.

Regulus simply raises a brow. "A just punishment, though I've never heard of it before."

"That's because I invented it." Hadrian makes sure not to turn his back completely, running his fingers along book bindings. The Black library is even more beautiful than Hadrian remembered.

"Fascinating." Regulus gracefully seats himself on a plush couch. "Why don't you sit down and explain why you're here?"

To focus all his attention is painful. It's easier to pretend to be doing something else than to look someone in the eye. Eye contact means _control_. Hadrian fights against a squirm as he sits. "Will you teach me to duel?"

"Professor Riddle lessons are very practical, aren't they?" A knowing smile.

"Hermione is better protected if I'm trained."

"You're not her bodyguard, and she doesn't want you to be."

_Bloody hell._ "Maybe I don't want be a sitting duck the next time she gets struck in the back. Will you help me or not?"

Regulus smiles. "And that's all you needed to say. You haven't needed to ask for help in a long time, I believe?"

"Unfortunately, one cannot learn duelling from books." Hadrian grits out.

"No, one cannot. Alright, let's go to the duelling room."

Trust Regulus Black to leave no time to waste. A stupid, awkward fear stops Hadrian's feet three steps down the hallway. What if Sirius is here?

"He's at work until six. No worries."

And just like that Hadrian must continue on. Hopefully it was only a single moment without a barrier. No one should see what Hadrian is feeling. He clenches his fists, then relaxes them. Breathe. Get your bearings.

The duelling room is a massive space with nothing but cushioned green walls and silver flooring, old scents of blood, urine, and sweat long attempted to be scrubbed away. Not even house elves can get rid of everything. The light comes from a single lamp hanging from the ceiling.

Regulus positions himself across from Hadrian, shifting into duelling stance. "I'm assuming that you already know formal duel etiquette, so we'll focus on real life application."

A spell hurtles towards Hadrian. Hadrian sidesteps it easily. Regulus sends another, another, to the left, to the right, aimed for the chest and for the head. Ones that curveball and ones that screwball. Are they fucking Americans?

"Your problem isn't dodging, though I don't know if we can attribute that entirely to your werewolfism."

"I wouldn't know." _Get the fuck away from this topic before I rip your head off._

The corner of Regulus' mouth quirks up. "This time I'll be on the defensive."

Hadrian raises his wand. Dozens of dark and grey spells flitter through his mind.

"And you're dead. What are you thinking of?"

Hadrian swears. "A million fucking spells."

"It doesn't have to perfect. Let's go again, this time cast the first one one your mind." Regulus bounces from foot to foot. "Go."

A beam of yellow light bites toward Regulus. He sidesteps it easily. "Good, again."

Another spell hurls forward. Dodged. Another. Dodged. Another -

It seems to go on for fucking forever.

They do rounds and rounds until Hadrian gets faster. Until he nearly nicks Regulus in the arm with a well-placed bone breaker.

"Good." Regulus nods. "I think that's a good place to stop."

Hadrian swallows and bites back expletives. He always wants to swear. To call people out when they haven't done anything that's warranted. His throat burns, but he manages a "thank you."

A grin spreads across the older man's face. "You better run if you want to miss Sirius."

Hadrian glances down at his watch, feeling like a tardy middle schooler. It's 6:05. He looks up at Regulus.

"You can come again next Saturday, same time."

"Goodbye." Hadrian strides to the door, but as soon as it clicks behind him he's sprinting through the ancestral hallways. Disapproving paintings clicks their tongues and turn to gossip to their neighbor.

He runs. Bursts into the living room and throws a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. "Hogwarts, Professor Snape's office."

There's no grace in his plunging through the fireplace. The floo throws him about like a flag in tempestuous wind. Shame twists through his stomach as he stumbles out into the office, just managing not to fall.

He's never been so desperate. Is he really so fucking scared of Sirius Black?

Snape looks up from his desk. "I see avoidance is passed down through the generations."

"We were duelling.." Hadrian sneers.

"Sure you were."

Hadrian barely stifles an eyeroll. He strides into the lab connected to Snape's office. Gets through the three lock system with ease (it's been three years since Snape let him into it).

The aconite smell is stronger now, pungent and burning at Hadrian's eyes and mouth. He breathes deep, letting the pain ground him.

"You've done all the calculations?"

"Seven times over." Hadrian shakes the vial of Irish Lizard flakes, watching them dance just a bit too slowly. Their magnetic properties are perfect for what he wants. It _will_ work this time.

"I understand trial and error, Mr. Potter, but you seem… invested."

"It's Mr. Evans now." Hadrian's free hand curls into a fist. "I need to get this right, so if you're going to watch -"

"Message received." That low, velvety voice entones. Snape leans against the doorframe, black eyes fixed on the potion.

Hadrian huffs and centers himself again. Watches the swirl of aquamarine and violet, it's the exact shades he predicted. This will work.

He pulls the weight measure from underneath the table. Uncaps the flakes and shakes them out until exactly 20 grams. Oily fish seaps its scent into his sensitive nose. Hadrian turns away for a moment, allowing the burn of aconite and laboratory dust to recoat his lungs.

A careful scraping of the flakes into the potion. Hadrian steps back from the puff of dark smoke. Violet and aquamarine turns to orchid and royal blue. Black smoke curls to the ceiling, tracing patterns on the cracks and war wounds.

Then the smoke suicide-bombs itself back into the potion, leaving the dark colours and heady aconite scent.

Hadrian needs to remember to breathe. He steps forward.

"We should check its acidity content before it is consumed."

"Professor, I've done all the tests."

Snape swallows. "Heaven forbid me to be the one to stand between scientific discoveries."

This will be the one. Hadrian's mantra shakes through his mind, quaking to his hands. He carefully ladles a vial of the potion. Holds it in front of the torchlight, little flakes of bright orange glitter inside.

Hadrian tosses it back. His taste buds twist with lemon, herring, and overpowering lavender. It's like eating fish soap. He grimaces and swallows.

Something should be happening. His extremities should tingle, maybe his breath becoming short. His heart should beat faster. It's like a transformation.

Which isn't happening.

Hadrian sighs, collapsing onto a stool. Slams his head against the wall. "Experiment #28, failed."

"Wolfsbane took hundreds of tries to perfect." _You musn't give up. _

"But Potions Master Tennyson didn't have the arithmancy background that I do. He simply used trial and error, which was completely inefficient."

"You're attempting a much more difficult feat than Tennyson. Mr. Potter -"

"Why Snape, are you trying to _cheer me up_?"

Snape straightens. "Certainly not. You're _independent_ enough not to need such base methods of motivation."

Hadrian's smile turns sarcastic, hurting his cheeks. "Certainly. I'll put a new formula through in a couple of weeks. Thank you for use of the facilities."

Snape's eyes narrow, but he nods. "That is acceptable."

Hadrian tries not to let his steps gain speed.

"Mr. Evans?"

Hadrian swallows and turns back.

"You deserve better than your old name, anyway."

Hadrian nods and tries not to rush out the door. He should be confident, proud - at least on the outside. The Slytherin common room is near empty, though a smattering of students occupy the desks.

One of them is Hermione.

She turns to him, eyes wide. "You look awful."

"I thought that was my habitual state?"

Her eyes flicker around the room, two third years whisper in the corner, occasionally glancing over. She waves her hand, silence secured over their bodies. "Is this still from that ritual?"

Hadrian's knuckles turn white. "Can you let well enough alone?"

"It is." She says slowly. "And all your attempts to fix it have failed."

"This isn't about that, and it's not something that _can_ be fixed, _Black_, so leave it."

Her hand curls gently around his bicep. "Hadrian. You nearly died trying to save me."

"You saved me once."

"Stopping Ronald Weasley from pushing you off the Astronomy Tower never posed the same risk to me as you using _mia zaubia_."

"We're bloody even now."

"It doesn't work that way for friends."

Hadrian collects himself with a slow breath. Hermione smells of lilacs and the iron tang of a sword. "Don't patronize me."

"Let me help you!"

"You can't! I've been working on a potion for years, Hermione. I thought I was getting to the final stage of research, but it's done nothing! I spent weeks on the arithmancy, weeks on the potion, all for fucking nothing once more, so thanks but no thanks. I'm going to bed."

"It's dinnertime."

"Food can wait."

Hadrian finally jumps up those steps, bursting into his own room. His breathing shakes as he locks the door. Bile rises in his throat. His stomach twists.

He barely makes it over to the waste bin before doubling over, losing the potion and his lunch. He dry heaves for what seems like too long, his body shuddering. As a werewolf, Hadrian never gets sick.

A flick of his wand - the vomit is banished. Hadrian collapses onto his naked bed. Sighs and climbs into his trunk. If he wasn't hungry before, he certainly isn't now.

o0o0o0o

"Young man, step into my office, please." McGonagall's mouth is pursed into a circle, eyebrows attempting to collide.

Hadrian lifts his chin and follows her. He's got Herbology in five minutes, but she'll write him a note.

"Harry!" A short woman pounces, wrapping her arms around him.

Hadrian freezes. Pushes her away and back steps into the doorway. "Don't you fucking touch me."

"Language." McGonagall sits primly behind her desk. "Sit down, all three of you, so we can discuss this like adults."

James is ramrod straight in the furthest chair from Hadrian. His nostrils flare, mouth downturning as he looks at his "son." Lily gives a loud, choking sob, slamming down into the middle chair.

Hadrian tucks himself into the last.

"Now, it seems Lord and Lady Potter believe you are no longer mentally capable of attending Hogwarts." Hadrian rises up in his seat. "And that your werewolf status makes you a danger to those around you."

James radiates smug, legs spread, arms hanging over the armrests. Lily's eyes open wide, pleading with Hadrian.

A loud laugh startles the two out of their looks. "This Yule I packed up my stuff and left them for good, Headmistress. They're possessive and controlling, and we both know that I've spent almost seven school years in this castle without harming a fly."

McGonagall interrupts James before he can start. "I saw your name had changed in the Book. Was that a mutual decision?"

"They disinherited me after I refused to heel."

"You're a fucking creature." James hisses. "You're a danger to everyone you meet."

"Lord Potter, please do not talk to your son that way. Given the situation and Hadrian's age, he's perfectly able to leave you and your wife. What you've done thus far is commit the tort of defamation, and if you continue I will have you brought up on charges."

"Minnie-"

"And calling me by a schoolboy nickname you invented only further digs your case. Please floo yourselves out."

"_Harry_." Lily's lips tremble.

"Come on, Lils." James' hand grips vice-tight around her forearm. He points at Hadrian. "Werewolves don't get anywhere, son. Remember that."

He uses his free hand to scoop an overgenerous handful of floo powder. "Potter Manor." James pulls his wife into the fireplace.

McGonagall hones in on Hadrian like a missile. "Your home life has never been exceptional, has it, Mr. Evans?"

He lets a sarcastic grin form. "Sure it was, until I became a beast."

Her mouth purses. "Your father was always very progressive. I can't quite understand how it escalated this far."

"Just because someone's okay with the idea of werewolves doesn't mean they're okay with their child being bitten."

She leans over the desk, looking ever bit the prim and proper schoolma'am, but James had drunkenly told more than a few stories of her intelligence and magical strength, never as much as his, of course. "Mr. Evans, were you ever abused?"

Hadrian smiles without humour. "He's never starved me, never called me names, never hit me."

"And that's not an answer."

"He's never abused me." He laces his voice with intensity. "And if you report anything of the kind I'll deny it."

Her eyes turn to slits. "Do you not believe justice will be found for you? Minister Gaunt has overthrown the system an incredible amount in the last decade."

"I don't need justice against a simpleton like my blood father."

"Or you think it will make you seem weak in front someone."

"He never touched a hair on my fucking head, Headmistress, _drop the subject_."

McGonagall raises an eyebrow. "I'd ask that you watch your language, Mr. Evans. You still have a couple of months to go before the ties of hierarchy are cut."

They've never been equals.

"You're a smart young man, Mr. Evans. I hope you know that I'll aid you should you change your mind." She pulls a piece of paper out of her desk and grasps a quill. "You can give this to Professor Sprout, and if you need anything -"

"Thanks, Headmistress." Hadrian gives her his best sincere grin. Like he's the mere student she reminded him to be. "I'll get back to class."

So it goes.

o0o0o0o

"You all seem to need more practice, so today we're going over the spells I talked about last class. If you haven't been studying, I'll know."

The students stand straighter.

Only two classes in, and it's already shown that Gaunt's class is not one to daydream through. The man's voice cracks crystal clear through the room, and he never spends more than five minutes in a lecture.

He seems to love assigning groups and watching students fail at the practical.

Hadrian rolls his shoulders, staring at a sober-faced Hermione from five metres away. Desks and chair line the walls, making the scene closer and more intimate.

"Begin."

Hadrian's expelliarmus bounces off of Hermione's quick protego. He hops from foot to foot, grinning as her next three spells fizzle against the wall behind him.

The only sign of her consternation is the slight wrinkling of her nose. Her next disarming spell nearly clips his wand hand.

He spins, red magic spilling from his wand. It almost hits Hermione's hip, almost hits her shoulder.

"Potter, stop playing."

Hadrian has to stop the urge to turn to Gaunt, whose scent, while faint, is drifting from directly behind him.

Hermione strikes forward, moving with speed she's obviously conserved up until this point. Hadrian bobs and weaves. Smiles when he has to use a protego for the first time in their duel.

Then her spell hits his foot, and he has to snatch his wand out of midair.

His breath grows short, shame twisting his stomach. Everybody saw his pride and the near fall that went with it. Hadrian kicks it into high gear, casting dozens in the space of 10 seconds. When you don't need words casting can be done however fast spells travel.

Hermione's defense gets weaker with her anger. Her nostrils flare, feet not always shuffling in the best direction for the fight.

Hadrian feints right - she falls for it.

Her wand flies into his hand.

Hermione rolls her eyes and shoves her hand onto her hips. "Showoff."

He smiles. "Sour loser."

"Well done, Mr. Potter." Gaunt's hand sliding along Hadrian's neck. A strange absent of _pop_ eats like a tickle in his lungs.

Hadrian's chest rises and falls like he's a dragon to breath the pain away. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and steps away from Gaunt. "Thank you, sir."

The Minister smirks. "I see you've found someone to practice with. Keep it up." Is the skin around his mouth pulled tight? Can one do that in a smirk?

Is he fucking jealous?

"Mr. Zabini, everyone is aware you know other spells, but the entire purpose of this exercise is to only use expelliarmus and protego. Are you incapable of following instruction?"

Hermione huffs, snatching her wand out of Hadrian's hand. "Have you really been practicing with someone?"

"Your father offered."

She pauses. "And you accepted?"

"You let your anger distract you while we were duelling. You should probably work on that."

"Sure." Hermione says slowly. "He taught me too, you know? But I've been getting lessons since I was nine."

Gaunt calls the class back to order, beginning his lecture for the next set of spells.

"Mr. Potter."

Hadrian looks up from his notes. Gaunt strides across the empty classroom, cheeks sharp with a smirk.

"You're going to ask me the question that's been burning your tongue, and I'll decide whether or not to answer it."

Hadrian packs up his things. If Gaunt wasn't actually good at being the Minister, then it'd be a whole lot easier to deal with him. "Why this game of cat and mouse? You must've felt the bond the moment I completed the ritual."

Gaunt twists a chair to face Hadrian, leaning over Hadrian's notes, long fingers tracing the parchment. "A story for a story."

Hadrian's mouth purses. Trust the bastard to never sway from Slytherin ways. "Deal."

Gaunt's eyebrows are perfect arches, raising and lowering with mood. How different are the blond from the true ones. His pink tongue slips across too red lips. What, does the man suck on strawberries in his spare time?

"At the beginning I thought it was a psychic attack, and I was enraged. However, it didn't take more than a few self-diagnosis spells to find the culprit. I immediately meditated and found your mind and identity."

Hadrian swallows and breaks eye contact. "My shields should've kept you out."

"Not with a bond, little wolf." Long fingers trail along Hadrian's knuckles. "I couldn't plunge deep without risking your sanity, and I was _merciful_."

"It was an accident."

"I thought perhaps it was a long-term plan. That you thought I wouldn't notice."

"I'm not that stupid."

Gaunt smirks. "So I ascertained your presence at the Black Yuletide Party. Colour me surprised when I realized you'd just _fucked up_." Those lips should never pronounce that word. It's obscene.

Hadrian pulls his hand away from Gaunt's, stifling a squirm.

"It makes you uncomfortable that I decided to keep you?"

"I'm not a fucking dog."

"No. You're not. Other creatures wait their entire lives for their mate. Would you like me to wax poetically about how we're meant to be together, or?"

Hadrian shakes his head a little bit too violently. "I don't want _you_."

In two seconds Gaunt is out of his chair and pulling Hadrian out of his. Long fingers wrap around his collarbone, back digging into the desk. "I complete you."

Hadrian's fingers tremble, attempting to pick Gaunt's hands away. "No."

The pressure grows around Hadrian's shoulder, he gasps, baring his teeth. No doubt his eyes shine amber.

Gaunt releases him and leans forward. "You and I will be together for eternity whether we break the bond or not. Tell yourself all you want that you'll be safe in that little Norwegian cabin, but it's a lie."

"You're full of shit."

"And you're destroying yourself, little wolf."

Hadrian should move away as those fingers wrap around his wrist. He's paused with bated breath. "You can't control me."

"No? Is this bracelet not making you miserable? I feel what happens every night, Hadrian. You're not the only side that is blocked."

Hadrian sneers. "I'm not about to fall to the ground in the middle of class because something pissed you off."

"So don't. Learn to work with it like I have. Accept it."

Those words finally give Hadrian the motivation to step away. He grabs his bag and tries not to trip on a desk leg. "Give it all the fucking pretty words you want, our bond was nonconsensual. Everything you try to do to me will be too."

"You chose to do the ritual."

Hadrian freezes.

Gaunt's steps tap against the stone floors, growing louder. Breath fans across Hadrian's neck. "You chose to commit the ritual because you wanted to be the best that you could be. I know you, little wolf. Tell me, what most-loved creature did you sacrifice? It wasn't human."

"The book said nothing about potential bonds."

"No, but you're a smart boy. Did you not read between the lines?"

Hadrian's neck grows hot, hand shaking so much he grabs the doorknob to steady himself. He had been willing to do _anything. Anything_ so he could win.

"Why did you do it?" A hand curls around Hadrian's hip.

He lets out a breath. Apparently oxygen is important. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"But you haven't told anyone, darling."

"I don't trust you."

Gaunt's nose slides along Hadrian's neck, nuzzling at his jugular.

Hadrian lets him, the fire leaping around his body. "You should sneak into the auror department sometime. Hang around with an invisibility cloak and see what there is to see."

"Flint has always been incredibly loyal."

"And he's the head of the department, that doesn't mean his subordinates won't be able to sneak things by."

"I'll check your claims." Gaunt's hand releases.

Hadrian clicks the door shut behind him. He doesn't brush his fingers along his neck, bringing back the aching memory. No. He may be bent, but he's a not a fucking _girl_.

Gaunt's going to check his _claims. _Did he say it that way because he's the minister, or because he thinks that's what they are - claims? Like Hadrian bought an item and tried to bully himself a refund, item ripped and covered in dirt.

Fuck Gaunt and his stupid, hot touch.

o0o0o0o

A crumpled ball hits a bookshelf, rebounding onto plush green carpet. Hadrian sighs, belly down on his bed. Ink hits his tongue, mouth wrapped around an abused quill. It's a nasty habit; Hadrian wouldn't do this in public.

Dear Sirius.

Mr. Black

To: Sirius

Oh fuck it all.

_Sirius,_

_I want to talk to you and sort out our issues. This has gone on too long. If you don't agree with Lily and James' assessment of the situation, you'll agree._

_-Hadrian Evans_

That's about as blunt as he can make it. Hadrian sighs. He'll have to exit the trunk to send it off. Every time he comes down here it gets harder to leave.

His stomach screams. When was the last time he ate?

He ascends the stairs with shaky legs, trying not to be too dramatic about the whole thing. His eyes burn, which is quickly becoming a normal occurrence. Sleep skips over Hadrian too often, scalding along his body with each night of deficit.

The owlery seems further away than usual. He curses as yet another staircase flings itself away before he can lift a foot.

Hadrian finally arrives. A flurry of white catches in his peripheral vision. "Hedwig." He says, starting loud and ending quiet.

Hedwig is dead. It was not a worthy cause.

It would be so nice to be in his trunk right now. To read one of the Potions texts he received this morning. One of the school owls crooks its head at him. He gestures it forward, sending out a string of magic to curl around its talon.

The brown barn owl snaps her beak, snatching the letter. Hadrian pushes his magic forward, harder. "Take it to Sirius Black."

She flies away, though doesn't look very happy about it.

o0o0o0o

**I couldn't help myself with the title. It was too easy :P**

**Also, I forgot that Anthony is a Ravenclaw? Whoops. **

**I have no clue about the British legal system and whether it has torts or not, but I live in a Commonwealth country, so they're supposed to be similar? Just a meager business student here trying to get through.**


	9. If It is Us Against Them

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 9 - _If it is Us against Them (Me against Him)_

Sirius' face shows the last decade clearly, lines pressed from his chin to the corner of his mouth, curling around the bulbs of his nose. His thin hand reaches out for an awkward shake. "I didn't know if you were going to come."

Hadrian tries to smile. By Sirius' downcast expression, it doesn't succeed. "It wasn't your fault."

Wide brown eyes. Sirius leads Hadrian to the living room, phantom steps scarcely touching the ground. "Regulus says so too."

"Because it's true."

Sirius shakes his head. "I never should've said yes. I was such a wanker, scaring you like that. It's no wonder you got lost. We should've made sure the room was locked."

"It was."

The man shakes his head again. "We had all the magical precautions in the world, why couldn't we have just remembered -"

"I told Lily and James, after the healer had stitched me up, what happened. I unlocked the door with accidental magic. I was mad and scared, and the door flew open."

Sirius' eyebrows attempt to collide. "James said -"

"James fucking lied." Hadrian curls his fingers into a fist. If only Sirius had a mind of his own. "And someone lied to you and Remus, too. Werewolves aren't dangerous if they accept their wolf."

"Hadrian." Sirius says slowly. "Headmaster Dumbledore got Remus wolfsbane for years. Why would he have spent so much money if there was a cure?"

"So Remus would rely on him." Gaunt would've smirked. Leant forward and making it obvious he already knew. _A heavy hand around his collarbone. How easily could he snap it?_

Sirius scoffs. "That's not - Dumbledore only wanted to help us!"

"And what did he ever do that bettered wizardkind?"

"He let Muggleborns into Hogwarts. He fought for their rights!"

"You mean he passed legislation banning the old rituals and spells of our heritage in order to appeal to them? That he's made our entire society weaker because of his poisonous ideas of dark magic?"

"They are evil."

"Do you think before words come out of your mouth?"

Sirius pulls back, face hardened. "Do you remember the movie nights we used to have? Lily would laugh when you came home quoting the pants off of old Muggle films. James always got so frustrated." Apparently the last resort of Gryffindors is an unsubtle subject change. The Dumbledore conversation is not _over_.

"I don't understand why he married Lily, being that he's such a xenophobic bastard."

Sirius swallows. "He didn't used to be that way."

"Or you just put up with it. He didn't say anything, but I think he became anxious on full moons. Why would he have sent Severus Snape to the Shrieking Shack if he didn't think wolves were dangerous?"

"Rem- he couldn't control himself when he changed, Hadrian. There's a reason why James was scared."

Hadrian laughs, loud and fake. "I don't take wolfsbane, and I can. _Remus_ spent his entire life fighting werewolfism for _nothing_."

Sirius draws back. "That's not what anyone else says, pup."

"Have you read anything written by werewolves in the last decade?"

"It's all propaganda for Minister Gaunt." Sirius chants. Who spoonfed him that information?

"No, it's not. For the first time since… ever, information about magical creatures is actually written by the magical creatures themselves, with sources cited and all the t's crossed."

"It's _dark magic_."

Hadrian shoots up from his chair. What can you possibly say to that? "So you're saying magical creatures are automatically evil? That them accepting themselves is _wrong_ because they are dark?"

Sirius swallows. "Everyone dark I've ever met have been evil."

"I am dark, Sirius. Does this make me a bad person? Do you think all the spells I use rip out innards?"

"That's not what I -"

"Your brother is a dark wizard. You love him, don't you?"

"He's grey. He doesn't do the dark stuff anymore."

"I do still cast dark spells, Sirius, just not around you." Regulus leans against the doorframe.

Sirius immediately plunges to his feet, fists clenched. "You lied to me!"

Hadrian is so fucking frustrated with this already. Can't people just take the time and think it through? Why does it have to be black and white, _us_ against _them_?

"Because you always do this." Regulus retorts calmly. "You always jump to angered conclusions. Remus killed himself because of all the prejudices you blindly believed. If werewolves were accepted he never would've done it."

"Don't talk about him." Sirius whispers. His wand stretches inches from Regulus' chest.

The smarter brother raises an eyebrow. "I do love you, Sirius, but this can't go on any longer. It's been almost a decade."

Lily says she loves Hadrian - when James is not in the room.

Sirius shakes, and for a split second seems to shrink, black fur giving a shriek around his body. Then he's a wizard again, hands clenched at his sides. "I've tried, Reg."

"Goodbye." Hadrian says. He's had enough of this soap opera.

Sirius throws himself in Hadrian's direction. "Don't leave."

"You've just stated you believe all dark creatures to be evil. Why should I stay to watch you and your brother argue more? We both know you won't change."

Sirius' shoulders sink down, eyes growing large. "I can change."

"Hadrian's correct."

An even more dejected look sinks Sirius' features.

"You haven't changed from your first year of Hogwarts. You refuse to even research your beliefs, clinging to them like they'll bring your lover back." Regulus' eyes shine.

If he starts crying Hadrian is leaving. He clears his throat. "Take some time and think about it."

Sirius collapses onto an armchair. "Okay."

Regulus gestures Hadrian forward, closing the door behind them. "Thank you for speaking with my brother."

"I didn't do it for you."

"As I'm well aware. Did it ease your ghosts?"

"Sure." Hadrian sneers. Lets his eyes trace a moving landscape.

Regulus starts walking towards the duelling room, and Hadrian follows.

Their usual dueling style is snappy and smart, but today Hadrian's back is stiff, fingers clenched white around his wand.

Regulus turns to face him, and they bow.

"Is there a specific spell or technique you wish to work on today?"

Hadrian's wand curls through the air like a baton. "You're one of the Dark Lord's followers."

"There is no Dark Lord."

"Not publicly. Did you really invite me into your house just to treat me like a fucking idiot?"

Regulus raises a charcoal brow. "No, but I don't have to answer every question you pose."

Hadrian lets out a steady, controlled breath. "You didn't tell him you were giving me lessons."

"One would think, if there was a Dark Lord, that he would not be interested in a lowly follower's personal life."

Hadrian raises his chin and stares into dark brown eyes.

"Or did you think he'd already put out the feelers for you? What have you done to garner his interest?"

"I didn't fucking _do_ anything." Hadrian grits out.

"Is he courting you?"

Teeth rub together in an attempt at bone dust creation. Hadrian's stomach squeezes, heart quickening. "Didn't we come in here to duel?"

"That's not what you wanted from me." Regulus says gently, eyes intent. "You don't seem the type to just follow a Dark Lord without something held over your head."

Oh. _That_ type of courting. The tension in Hadrian's shoulders negates slightly. "You trying to be the protective parent or some shit? I'm not following him, _ever_."

Regulus' stare is a step away from piercing Hadrian's magical core. "Something's happening, and it's strong enough to rupture your masks."

"You should be a poet."

"And you can run anytime you want, yet you've stayed throughout my observations. Do you want me to continue to guess, or to tell?"

"Who's doing the telling?"

"You."

Hadrian swallows and turns his head. "I've got an essay due tomorrow."

Regulus nods. "Okay."

Sirius is still slumped in the armchair when Hadrian uses the floo. Neither say a word.

Hadrian falls back into Hogwarts.

o0o0o0o

Snape shoots Hadrian glances throughout the entirety of Potions class, being more helicopter than professor. If Hermione's occasional suppressed grin shows anything, she's noticed it too.

Class finally ends. Hadrian ladles Nightwing potion into a vial and places it on Snape's desk. Gives a nod to the professor, who returns it. Good, no further touchy feely talks required.

Hermione has Hadrian's and her own books packed in her bag. "We're going to the library."

This isn't the first time she's done this. Usually when Hermione hits a block in research she pulls Hadrian into it, citing the need for "fresh eyes." The real reason is to see whether or not the block is because she's slow, or that it's a difficult step.

Hermione gently lays their books on a library table, one of the more discrete study sections barricaded with bookshelves.

"What were you initial calculations?"

Hadrian blinks at her. "Hermione -"

"I'll solemnly swear on my magic to never reveal Hadrian's invention or concepts to another human being, unless given explicit permission by him to do so." A beam of light tightens around her being, then dissipates into the air.

He grinds his teeth and opens his bag. "You're such a manipulative bitch sometimes."

"A manipulative bitch offering you free help." Her eyes gleam.

"Is this another friend thing?"

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Tell me your project, and I can decide to walk out of here if I don't believe in it."

It's a giant step, laid out at the crossroads. Hadrian's muscles are stiff, the noise in his brain as loud as a Muggle police siren, building as the decision approaches. He counts his breaths in sets of three, making sure they don't seem too quick or too slow.

"It's a potion to enhance a werewolf's power, hypothetically to heighten control to the point where the wolf can change at will."

She cocks her head to the side. "Part of what makes wizards fear them so much is they think the beast controls them."

"But werewolves aren't duel personality. Independent studies have been popping up in the last decade showing that the 'curse' is simply modifying our DNA. We're not one or the other."

"Gaunt's policies are beginning to propose that." Hermione states.

Hadrian's nostrils flare. "What's your decision?"

Her fingers tap along the wood table. "I'm in."

A stupid, warm feeling blossoms in Hadrian's chest. "The formula is complicated, to say the least." Hadrian pulls a notebook out of his robes. Unlocks the replicated block and chants the spell.

An exact copy appears beside it, faded blue and smelling faintly of pine.

Hermione snatches the copy, flipping through. Her fingers dance over the dated entries. "You've been working on this since third year?"

"Off and on."

"And this is why you've spent so many hours in Potions textbooks."

"Yes."

"I wish I could've helped you from the start." She pulls out a piece of parchment. "So, go over this with me, the aquacity is accounted for in the Neptune formula but you made sure not to double over in the Hygins cross-examine?"

"Exactly. My only issue was whether or not to attribute adenine as a natural werewolf sequence."

"I see -"

He talks Hermione through it. And she listens. Nods at the appropriate points. Asks questions and gives her opinion and traces down his equations like they're true _colleagues_. His mind whirrs with ideas. It's been over a month since he had a breakthrough like this.

But it's three hours later, and Hermione determines to drag him to dinner. The meats reek of grease and salt. Hadrian's stomach turns, but he sits himself down and starts to load his plate.

Food is not to be disregarded. It keeps his brain at top speed, and Hadrian's brain is the most important part of him.

A stare burns into him. Gaunt raises an eyebrow.

An envelope drops into his lap, laced with a notice-me-not. Hadrian's fingers curl around the parchment.

_Little wolf,_

_You owe me a story. _

_My quarters, 21 hours. _

_-Dein Gefährte. _

Hadrian's nostrils flare. Gaunt looks up from a conversation with the history professor. Those red lips curl into a smirk, eyes fucking _smouldering_.

The game goes on no matter how many times Hadrian says "fuck you." Maybe it's time to change tactics.

He lets himself form a smirk, rubbing a finger underneath his lip. Gaunt's stare sharpens. Hadrian pushes through the breathing process. Holds himself to the smirk longer than he desires.

"Ugh, Gaunt's class is a piece of cake." Daphne says. Her fingers dance over braids of flossed gold, making sure her crown (both physical and mental) is still set in place.

"He's a fucking hawk." Blaise sneers.

Hadrian chuckles. "You're pissed because he caught you cheating."

The group turns to Hadrian, eyebrows raised. Draco frowns. "Since when were you invited to this conversation, Potter?"

"You want another duel, Malfoy? Or can I just flash a bit of light and freeze you like a pissing hippogriff?"

Draco's thin mouth purses. A glamour glimmers around his neck. Blaise must be getting possessive.

"Sod off, you wanker." Blaise groans. "Draco's not interested in you."

Hadrian turns to Draco, smirk growing. Gaunt is still watching. "Sorry, but I prefer mine with a bit more… guts."

Draco flushes a pretty pink, the colour sweeping up to his ears. "_Blaise_!"

"You want everyone to know about the courtship, Potter?" Blaise voice is low and deep.

Fucking idiot. Of course Zabini would think it a declaration bracelet. "Why don't you shout it from the rooftops?"

Blaise smiles, cocking his head to the side. "Are you more ashamed of your voyeurism?"

"Why should I? Draco looks so lovely being fucked against a wall."

"Honestly Potter, could you be any more uncivilized?" Daphne ushers a dainty bite of fruit to her mouth.

"You don't think this conversation was muffliatoed before it started?" Hadrian smiles. Holds his wand above his food and whispers the counter, very obviously staring into her eyes.

Three eggs, three sausages, one piece of bread. Hadrian cuts it into even pieces - _take your time, you have the power_ \- and slowly masticates the food. His favorite Slytherins have started a whisper fest across the table, but they won't get revenge here.

It was stupid of him to engage them. He wanted to show Riddle, but letting himself be invisible for the last seven years hasn't done him any favours in the social department. Blaise and Draco's buttons are so _pushable_.

Finally finished his food, Hadrian leaves the room. Gaunt's bright blue eyes burn into the back of his neck. His mind's eye shows them clearly, so fucking intelligent. _I won't __**fucking**_ _be yours._

o0o0o0o

Hadrian knocks on Gaunt's door at exactly 9:15 that night. Cool air blows through the corridors, leaving goosebumps scratching against Hadrian's robes and a shiver tucked around his bones. He's a werewolf - he shouldn't get cold.

The seconds tick away. He smiles to himself. If Gaunt doesn't answer the door within a minute, he'll leave.

Exactly 9:16. "You're late."

"Oh but bondmate, you love me still, yes?"

Gaunt's eyes grow hot on Hadrian's face. _Stay your ground and smile like you're in control._

Gaunt smirks. "Of course, little wolf." He gestures Hadrian in. Those long fingers rest on the small of Hadrian's back.

Warmth bleeds through. Hadrian sits down across from Gaunt. Cocks his head to the side but doesn't let the question escape.

A staredown tingles Hadrian's nerves. Gaunt's features spring to view. Dark, almost raven coloured hair, nearly as curly as his blond alter-ego. He's taller, his nose smaller, cheekbones more apparent.

"Your Norwegian citizenship came through."

Hadrian pauses. Gaunt's eyes glitter, his head propped up on a hand. Like he's watching a fucking Muggle film. "Either the bond messed up the mail-owl, or you intercepted it." Mail owls never err.

"The Norwegian use plenty of protections on their National mail." Red lips upturning in a smirk. All this man ever fucking does is smirk.

"But the bond fucks everything up."

"My my, little wolf, you certainly have a _mouth_ on you. But this citizenship, you worked hard yes? A celebration is due."

Hadrian swallows. Gaunt gestures to the coffee table, and it morphs into a dining table, an elegant, three-tiered cake in the middle of the silk green tablecloth. A glamour, then. Hadrian needs to more vigilant.

Two plates appear in Gaunt's hand, dainty, silver forks in his other hand. He directs a plate and fork to Hadrian's side of the table, delicate magic spinning through the air with ease.

"Cut yourself a piece." Gaunt unsheathes a dagger from his thigh and turns its bejeweled handle to Hadrian. A glimmer shakes the dagger like pavement on a hot summer's day - cleaning spell.

Hadrian carefully controls his breathing. Cuts at a green velvety looking rosette, through gold leaf and into soft vanilla cake. He turns it to the side, and the strawberry filling spills out onto the bronze platter.

Closing his eyes, Hadrian's magic bites forward, wrapping itself around the slice of cake like a bubblewrap of protection. He exhales through his nose and _lifts_.

He opens his eyes when the cake touch the plate. Gaunt leans forward to take the dagger. Wraps his fingers over Hadrian's as he extricates it from his grip.

"You're beautiful."

Hadrian cocks his head to the side. "I did as you did."

"You don't need to be told our differences."

"But what if I want you to stroke my ego?"

"You don't." Gaunt says with a smirk. "You haven't called me Thomas since I asked you to."

"You consistently give me pet names I don't like." _What's the difference?_ Hadrian knows the difference.

"I've given you one, little wolf." Gaunt raises a small bite of cake to his mouth. "Do try it."

Hadrian stares Gaunt down for a few more seconds, then takes a bite. It's exactly what he likes, subtle flavours: vanilla, strawberry, with little bites of almond.

"The Black heiress was quite confused when I asked about your favourite foods."

"She'll no longer be confused in about a day."

Gaunt smiles. "You know her well, then?"

"You're trying to pretend you care about me, but after you've fucked it out of your system, you'll be bored of me. Let's skip the fucking part and agree to part ways."

"You believe me so banal?"

"_Thomas. _I don't want or need a partner. I've been working toward to Norway since second year."

"Work for the Unspeakables."

The Unspeakables' budget is one of the highest in the government departments. Hadrian has snuck around the sidelines of alley conversations, enough to know they have bucketloads of equipment and permission for experiments no ordinary wizards would be allowed to touch.

"This has been lovely, _Gaunt_, really, but the answer is no."

Thomas' hand snakes out, fingers grasping Hadrian's wrist. "I'll make you a deal."

Hadrian leans forward. If he wasn't a werewolf Thomas' grip would bruise. And the pressure could increase - Thomas is certainly strong enough. He could grab the other hand; could pin Hadrian down with arms above his head. It wouldn't be Hadrian's fault if he did. If he rocked their bodies together until -

"Go without the bracelet for a month, then, if you say no, I'll leave you alone."

"I'm not going to fucking trust your word alone."

"I'll get my attorney to write up a contract." Gaunt smiles, and with his free arm pushes the dining table out of the way. He drags Hadrian closer by the wrist. "You just can't wait to be free of me."

"Jealous, bondmate?"

Gaunt raises Hadrian's wrist to his mouth, planting a wet kiss on the inside. Hadrian's body burns. If Hadrian were alone he could let the sounds out; could drag his naked body against a mattress. But he's not alone, and he doesn't need anyone.

Gaunt kisses it once more, then the cold metal of the bracelet. "Agree." He commands.

"_I'll_ write the contract."

Gaunt smirks. "Of course, love."

"Let go of me."

The "Professor" finally drops Hadrian's wrist. It's cold, a momentary, stupid loss that Hadrian will get over by the time he reaches the door.

He escapes. Locks himself in his trunk and procrastinates taking off the stupid bracelet. The more he lets it build the more painful it will be.

_Magic word. Click. Dive into brain. Let the plants distract you._

They don't distract him.

o0o0o0o

The Fox Tavern is tucked in the corner of Knockturn alley. Its red paint peels off in strips, dim windows glimmering of magic patches from past bar fights, an illegible sign hanging from a leaning wood rod. Hadrian steps into a whirlwind of scents. Over half of the booths are filled. Glamours glimmer over every second patron, pointed ears and yellow eyes in plain sight.

Hadrian squares his shoulders, adjusting the black hood tied at his neck. He slips onto a barstool beside a hunched figure and orders a firewhiskey.

The man's lips upturn. There's no eyebrows to raise, his facial hair clumpy and uneven, claws clenched around his mug of beer. "What's a pretty wolf like you doing here?"

Hadrian turns, biting his lower lip. "What's a powerful alpha doing sitting alone?"

"Laying it on thick there." The wolf laughs, his bright blue eyes dipping down to Hadrian's exposed chest. "Name's Fenrir."

"Heimdall." Hadrian lets his fingers move to his chest, picking at the buttons of his vee-cut silk green shirt.

"That's a beautiful colour against your skin, pretty." Claws curl around Hadrian's fiddling hand. Chapped lips press a kiss against his knuckle.

Hadrian smiles. "I bet you could turn it prettier."

Fenrir returns the smile, though his is darker around the edges. "Why don't you come up to my room?"

The claws dig in further around Hadrian's wrist. He shivers at the sensation, hyping up his reaction with a flutter of eyelashes. Nobody pays the two male werewolves much attention as they ascend the stairs. Part of the Fox Tavern's gimmick is privacy for all Magical creatures, and it works.

Fenrir's door slams against the wall. Hadrian's knees hit the edge of the queen-sized bed, and Fenrir slides a key into the rusty silver lock. Blue eyes darken on Hadrian's form.

"Take off your clothes."

Hadrian smirks. Throws his cloak on an armchair. His fingers slowly work the buttons of his shirt. Fenrir's slightly sour breath brushes over his face.

Buttons ricochet off the walls. His torn emerald shirt flies into the corner. Claws tug into his hips, taking off the trousers and pants in a single swoop.

Fenrir steps closer, a thigh between Hadrian's legs, a hand curling around his neck. "I'm going to _wreck_ you."

"Then kiss me already." Hadrian bites the tablet hidden in place of a wisdom tooth.

The older werewolf's eyes flash. A strong tongue plunges into Hadrian's mouth. Lust and disgust twist in Hadrian's stomach. He returns the kiss with vigour, pushing the drug forward.

The hand on his neck tightens. Hadrian finds his back on the mattress, Fenrir looming above him.

Teeth nip at Hadrian's throat. His insides protest. "Don't mark me."

"Not that type of wolf, pretty."

"Good." Hadrian sweeps his hand along Fenrir's strong features, the huge tendons of his neck. Those blue eyes are getting dimmer.

Chapped lips come in for another kiss, teeth clanking, tongue dominating. Hadrian squirms, pressing forward like the greedy whore he's supposed to be.

Then yellowed claws press against his neck, a sliver away from breaking skin. "Who sent you?"

Hadrian smiles into the face of a monster. "Don't hurt me."

"Little slut." Fenrir shakes and sways, seizuring. Hadrian maneuvers them so Fenrir's on his back.

He presses his naked body against the alpha's clothed one. "Tell me about your master."

A claw twitches. "He's greater and stronger than you'll ever be." Fenrir grits his teeth and spits in Hadrian's face. It costs him most of his energy.

"Do you know he's teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Nobody knows where he is. The -" The grizzled werewolf convulses, eyes rolling back in his head.

Hadrian turns Fenrir onto his side, head resting on his arm, so he doesn't choke on his own damn tongue.

He didn't expect it to be this easy, anyway. The followers are vowed to secrecy, an expected move for a Dark Lord that's managed to run the country successfully for ten years.

Hadrian pulls his clothes back on, giving his shirt a reparo. He flicks some intense cleaning spells throughout the room - it's in his best interest to leave no trace. Fenrir will wake up without memory of the event, but that doesn't mean his nose won't.

Nobody gives a second glance to the wolf in the long cloak. He's covered in notice-me-not's and glamours. Fenrir must have known he was a werewolf by his magical aura, because Hadrian went at lengths to cover himself in scent-disguising potion.

Fucking Thomas Gaunt and his miserable self. He's not going to let his "bondmate" walk all over him, no fucking way.

Research, part one, check.

Onto the next target. It's time to brew some Polyjuice.

Hadrian's trunk is good for more things than just books. He pulls a copy Murder Moste Foul out of the shelf until it clicks. It spins like a lazy susan, showcasing rows of vials all lined up perfect.

He fingers his way to the Polyjuice, put in status until the last ingredient is added - DNA. He's spent the evening in preparation.

The trunk's walls reek of garlic, sugar, and parmesan, all coming from an innocent cauldron of bright yellow potion. Hadrian isn't so stupid as to think Polyjuice will get him past every barrier, the yellow potion will disguise his scent, an important sense to both Wolves and Humans alike.

He hides in an alcove to take the potions, having already confunded the portraits along the hallway.

Severus Snape has holed himself up in Lab #2, an ordinary occurrence. Hadrian conjures a mirror, tracing Gaunt's sharp cheekbones and narrow nose. He smirks, then rearranges it slightly. Lifts his chin and readies the swagger. It's confidence - the kind where you know you're going to win because you've examined every angle, read every tome.

Hadrian will have that confidence someday.

Snape stands fast at his entry, quickly putting a status on his potion and trying to remove the sour from his expression. "My Lord."

Apparently not everyone was left unknowledgeable. Or perhaps Snape figured it out. "What was your relation to Remus Lupin?"

Snape's eyes flash. "He was in the same year as us, my Lord."

"Do you believe I stalked every student in Hogwarts?" It's easy to make his tone testy. Hadrian coaxes Gaunt's fingers over a dust-covered table, sneering at the dust gathered on his fingertips.

"No, but you must remember James Potter and Sirius Black. Remus was the brain of their operation, though he always objected to the... 'bullying.'"

"But it didn't stop him, did it?"

"No." Snape snaps. "It didn't. What do you want to know, specifically?"

"It was obvious from year one that Lupin was dependant on Potter and Black, yes? Do you think he was dependant enough to suicide?"

Snape swallows, black eyes flitting around the room. "No one knows for sure, my Lord. It was the year during your election, during the uprising. There was talk that perhaps one of ours had murdered him, but there would be no reason to murder the werewolf and not his lover, the bloody Gryffindor traitor."

"Quite the opinion you have there." Hadrian's gives a Gaunt-like smile.

"If Lupin had been in Slytherin, you would've wanted him for your own, my Lord."

"I'm sure I would." Hadrian says airily. Make him think he's overstepped his bounds.

Snape bows his head. "Is that all you wished to know, sir?"

"Would you leave my service if you believed me corrupt?"

Snape swallows. "Please define corrupt, my Lord."

"If you thought my agenda was worsening our country, if it was nonsensical and cruel?"

Potion-stained hands remain controlled, brushing along the bulb of a lightning bug plant. "In my years of service, I was never seen you punish where not justified. I joined because Britain needs a revival. We need Muggleborns and Dark Creatures to be integrated and accepted, to strengthen our forces, and that's what you stand for."

"Answer the question, Snape."

The Potions Master raises an eyebrow. "I would leave."

"Not join the Phoenix resistance?"

"I fight for the Dark or not at all." Severus says smoothly. His back straightens, the submission on his features melting away. "If you hadn't have called me Snape, you would've fooled me, _Hadrian_."

Hadrian stretches Gaunt's features in a smile. "All I needed was for you to believe me to be him."

"You've done your research." Snape wraps his fingers around Hadrian's wrist and pulls up his sleeve, revealing the naked flesh. "He's your bonded."

"Will he kill you for knowing?"

"You are not worried for yourself?"

Hadrian smiles again. "Are you not mad for being deceived?"

Snape releases Hadrian's arm. His eyes darken. "Oh I'm furious, but it's my own fault for not being observant enough. There's a couple of things that showed you from the beginning, though I wasn't looking."

"Thank you for the information, Professor."

"I'm sure you are." Snape wrinkles his nose. "Get out of my sight."

"As you wish, sir."

The honorifics sour Snape's expression further. Hadrian has to stifle a laugh as he exits the classroom.


	10. Supermoons and Crushed Butterflies

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 10 - _Supermoons and Crushed Butterflies_

By the time Hadrian and Gaunt sign the contract, it's torn, ink-stained, and covered in a couple dozen coffee rings. Gaunt laughs when he hands it over, an eyebrow arching. He takes three days before contacting Hadrian and at least half of the stains are his.

It started off with accidents, but became more of a way of marking it, treating an extremely important piece of parchment like an assignment worth 0.001% of their grade. Gaunt must have cooked with it, because that's the only explanation for the faint hint of garlic and onion stuck to its pages.

The night they sign is the day before the supermoon. An itch has already wormed its way into Hadrian's bones, scraping along his joints and mouthing at his tendons. He needs to _run,_ let the wolf leap free, but it's not time yet.

Hadrian's leg bounces under the table, and he can't find the self-control to stop.

Thomas-Gaunt tips his head to the side, carving his looped signature onto the paper. "Nervous, love?"

A suck of breath. "You know what tomorrow is, bastard."

"You're quick to use meaningful insults, mutt. I hope that means you did your research." Gaunt's eyes darken, the under circles purpling, cheeks going the slightest yellow.

"Maybe I have. You were in the same class as my parents, _Thomas. _You seem a bit tetchy today, is anything bothering you?"

"So polite, little wolf." Gaunt slides the contract back over to Hadrian.

There's no shame is checking it over for every curse every invented, or rereading every line to make sure nothing new squirmed its way inside.

Hadrian signs his name underneath Thomas Marvolo Gaunt's.

**Hadrian Potter will remove his suppressor bracelet for the period of one month, the duration of which will be spent with both him and Thomas Gaunt not resisting the bond. Anything done between the parties during this time will be done with explicit yes or no consent. A breach against this will be a breach against the contract.**

**At the end of the month, if Mr. Potter wishes, he may begin wearing the bracelet once again, and Mr. Gaunt will agree not to contact him unless under urgent circumstances of life or death for either party. **

Signature - _Thomas Marvolo Gaunt_

Signature - _Hadrian Charles Potter _

Date of Signing - _January 20th, 1998 _

Hadrian sweeps a glance down the contract one last time. Clears his throat. "I have an essay to write."

"I'm sure you do." Gaunt's fingers encase Hadrian's, a handshake turned handhold. He brings the werewolf's hand to his lips.

Gaunt's mouth leaves an invisible brand against Hadrian's skin, burning to his core.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian's stomach twists, flushing with heat, lemon, and nausea. His knees slam against the ground. Hands slap around a rubbish bin and drag it forward. He heaves, losing his supper of chili, the pumpkin juice he drank swirled in colours of orange chunks.

He's revolted. The moon shouldn't be in the sky for another hour, but Hadrian won't make it. He has to hunch around his stomach as he walks towards the Forbidden Forest, invisibility cloak tucked around an aching body. One step before another. His shoes seem to have morphed into lead.

It's never been this bad before.

Hadrian follows the scent of the pine tree, now covered in wards to protect his belongings. There's too much uncertainty in just stuffing his wand under its roots.

Wind bites at his naked body. Hadrian flinches, letting himself fall against the sticks and moss. The freshness of wet forest would be comforting, if its scent wasn't laced with acromantula piss and the venom of dozens of snake species.

Hadrian lets out a shaky sigh. The trees whistle, bowing in the breeze. A supermoon begins to rise, its pull felt through Hadrian's entire body. It's trying to bend Hadrian's bones from his body, his will to hers.

He won't be bound.

"Oh, little wolf." Says a gentle voice. Hadrian whips his head to the left, blurry eyes obscuring a man's form.

A cloak slumps against the ground. While Hadrian can't see his features, there certainly isn't mistaking the tone of naked skin. Then the wind changes direction, and the scent blasts into Hadrian's face.

Thomas Gaunt. A hand traces across Hadrian's cheekbone. He sighs, then jerks away.

"Come to observe my weakness?"

The hand chucks his chin. "Your beauty, love."

Hadrian shivers against the cold. "I haven't felt your emotions all day."

"It hasn't been a very extreme day. May I hold you?"

Hadrian should say no. He's strong, but it's only this one time, and he's so _cold. _He nods.

Thomas curls his hands around Hadrian's waist, pulling him onto his lap. Hadrian lets his head drop forwards onto Thomas' shoulder.

So warm. "I'm not a little damsel to be seduced or rescued."

"Certainly not, love." Warm fingertips bumping along Hadrian's spine. "I've known that from the moment I laid eyes on you."

"I'm not going to give in." Hadrian manages to lift his head. He glares into blue. The pupils slit under his stare, red bleeding into aquamarine.

"I think it's truthful to say you've never 'given in' to anything in your life. What do you hope to find by interrogating my followers?"

Hadrian's lungs wheeze. His body shakes in a violent shiver. "You're a dark lord running an entire country with it none the wiser. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"It can't just be that I want to make the England great?"

Breath. Think. Stay on track. The moon begins her frantic tugs. Hadrian lets it overtake him, but she's just teasing. The pressure drops. His eyes flutter.

Thomas curls his hand around Hadrian's neck. His head wouldn't stay up if not. "My mission is to integrate magical creatures into British Magical Society. In no country are we all accepted. Britain will be a haven for powerful, creative creatures. We hold them to laws of murder, rape, and thievery, and they contribute their starkheit. Is that not what you want?"

Hadrian drifts back. "It's too good to be true."

"Stay, Hadrian, and I'll show you every truth in my words." Thomas' warm nose slides up the tendon of Hadrian's neck, breath heating the skin.

Hadrian's voicebox protests, scraping along the words, "The moon is calling."

"Will you let me run with you tonight?" Thomas' nuzzles his pulse, and Hadrian's hips snap forward.

The pull starts anew, washing away the desire like a muddied figure in a downpour. "Since when do you ask for permission?"

Thomas lays him down gently onto the forest floor, hands sliding over Hadrian's ribs. "It's in your contract, love."

"Love is a construct." Hadrian closes his eyes, tired of seeing Thomas' handsome face. Those stupid words don't mean anything. "You don't have to."

The moon pulls. Hadrian's back arches, genitals rising to the sky. She attacks full force, spilling fur across his body, molding him into his wolf shape.

A shaken canine gets to his feet. Beside him is a serpent as long as Rapunzel's hair.

So they run.

o0o0o0o

When Hadrian wakes, he's tucked around a naked, sleeping body. Gaunt's hand rests an inch above Hadrian's arse. Hadrian's hard cock is pressed against a muscled thigh. Gaunt's jugular beats underneath his nose, scent strong of pears and pine trees. The criss-crossing texture of his skin is too close, Hadrian's eyes cross trying to puzzle it out.

"The morning after doesn't have to be so uncomfortable, little wolf."

Hadrian sighs, shoving himself away from Gaunt's warm body. His stomach twists, stomach acid burning the bottom of his throat. He swallows it down. "Isn't it a hassle to be so long?"

An upturn of the lips. "So forward."

"You know what I fucking meant." He wants to cover himself, but his erection is still half-mast, and looking ashamed means weakness. Hadrian straightens his back and open his legs slightly, casually.

"Yes, what you _fucking_ meant." Thomas cocks his head to the side, his eyes burning across _all_ of Hadrian's form. "You wanted to know if I'm truly a fair ruler?"

"And two witnesses aren't enough to convince me."

"Indeed. Whom did you approach before Severus?"

Hadrian raises his chin and smirks. "Fenrir Greyback."

"You poisoned him."

"Yes."

"How did you get the poison into his system without him smelling it?" Thomas approaches on all fours, predatory and so beautiful.

Hadrian lets forth a mocking laugh. "Do you truly want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask if not."

"Would you think there a need for retribution if I were to say it was in a tablet under my tongue?"

Thomas' cheekbones seem abruptly sharper, naked muscles clenching. "I'm going to pin you down now."

"If you can." Hadrian springs backwards, bolting for the trees. The absence of sound behind him strengthen his nerves to a ten.

He turns suddenly, propelling himself up, his hands hooking around a tree branch. He's scrambling upwards, whispering wordless silencing spells.

Then he looks down.

Gaunt stares up at him, his chest heaving, eyes dark. "Come down, little wolf, or I'll huff and I'll puff."

The moment stretches out between the like a fully extended bungee cord. The bark scratches against Hadrian's sensitive fingertips, digging into his naked feet. He could stay, but he made his decision when he gave chase.

Hadrian drops down, landing in a crouch.

They stare, nature continuing its journey around them. A squirrel shakes through the trees, bird twittering, a stinkbug taking flight. Thomas features are so bright, chest heaving from the run.

Hadrian sees the pounce too late. He squirms, but lets Thomas pin his wrists above his head. Jealousy and lust flood through his being, twisting around in his stomach. Hadrian's skin turns hot under the touch.

"You let him touch you?"

Hadrian smiles. A ringlet lies across Thomas' forehead, curls framed in the morning light. "Unfortunately, we didn't get much past a good snog."

Thomas's eyes burn into Hadrian's. He presses his lips against Hadrian's juglar, teeth scraping across the thin skin.

Hadrian's breath comes in short pants. Sunlight screams into his eyes as he stares up into the sky. "I don't belong to you."

"You'll never find anyone that can complete you like I can."

Hadrian sighs. His arousal fades to a dull throb, Thomas' thigh pressed between his own. Hadrian's neck is wet and burning.

A wave of nausea floods over him. Hadrian squirms and gags. Thomas releases him. Hadrian rolls to his side, vomiting into the grass.

"That's not a shifting side effect." Thomas states.

"Maybe it's _you_." His voice is not strong enough.

Long fingers curl into Hadrian's chin length hair. He expects to be pulled back, instead both hands wrap around the strands, keeping it out of his face as he continues to choke out stomach acid.

"You should seek medical aid."

Hadrian finally manages to stop gagging. He scratches Thomas' hands from his hair and scrambles back from his own vomit. "It's a fluke."

"Then you won't mind if I cast some diagnosis spells?"

"It's a fluke." Sweat drips over Hadrian's forehead. He's cold and wet, dirt staining his entire body. "Keep your fucking magic away from me."

The exhaustion of the change seeps in with all the subtlety of a dropped piano. Hadrian's feet shift further into the mossy ground.

"I will help you back to the castle." Just as Hadrian's feet want to give out, Thomas' arm slips under his legs, another under his back, scooping him up like a bag of marshmallows.

Hadrian squirms a couple of futile times, which only serves to rub his dirty naked body against Thomas'. An urge squeezes through his limbs, to lick the light skin so close to his tongue, to taste _everything_.

"Thomas?"

Blue eyes pierce him through like meat on a skewer. If Gaunt had his hands free there's no doubt one would be tracing along Hadrian's face. The phantom touch flits across his skin.

Whatever words he'd been intending fizzle out on his tongue. "What kind of creature are you?"

"Guess." Gaunt's stride is so gentle, each step more like he's floating. How can he be so fucking graceful after a sleepless night?

Red bleeding through blue eyes. "Vampire?"

"Partly." Gaunt stops and gently places Hadrian on his feet. "Your clothes are here."

Hadrian blinks at the pine tree. "I warded it to the fucking gills."

"And I watched you do it." A finger taps against his nose.

Hadrian pulls on his clothes, fingers shaking around the buttons of his cloak.

"Let me."

Foreign magic shrieks around Hadrian's body. He jumps. "You fucking bastard."

Thomas' mouth purses. "You're ill. Something unidentified by a diagnosis spell."

"I'm fucking _tired_. It's what happens when the moon forces you to shift into a wolf." Hadrian snatches his wand from inside the tree. "See you in class tomorrow, _Professor_."

o0o0o0o

"Just fucking say what you want to say."

Hermione's quill halts its progress across the parchment, a blot of ink ending a sentence midway. "What makes you think I have anything to say?"

"You've been giving me pensive looks for the last thirty minutes."

She sighs. "Did you get invited to Malfoy Manor for February 2nd?"

Hadrian raises an eyebrow, watching the flush spread across her face. "What, you think I would cry to learn that I'd been excluded?"

"Of course not, Hadrian, I know you." She sounds so certain of that fact. Intelligent people and their pride. "But were you?"

"I haven't RSVP'd yet."

"I know you and Malfoy have never been on great terms, but it's a good opportunity."

"Are you trying to recruit me for something, Hermione?"

A small smirk works its way across her lips. "Your father is on the Board of Education."

"I'm not sure if that name is applicable after my disinheritance came through last week."

"Hadrian… Charles, how dare you keep this from me!" She laughs. "I didn't think he'd have the balls."

"I'm sure Lily protested most voraciously. Do you truly believe this dinner will change his perspective of me at all?"

"It's not about changing his perspective, cousin. You show up and act elegantly, being one of the chosen seventh years for prestigious dinner celebrating intelligence, you'll make him look like a fool for disinheriting you."

"Until he spreads my species around the room like it's a disease."

"It's 1998, Hadrian, and Minister Gaunt has been invited."

Hadrian gives her a deliberate frown. Rubs the bridge of his nose. It doesn't look like he's getting back to his essay anytime this afternoon. "Is that supposed to entice me?"

"Stop being so cross. I say how he looked at you at the Yuletide Party. This is an opportunity to make connections."

"To kiss arse, you mean."

"You don't need to state everything out loud when we're both thinking it." Hermione's lips purse. "I need a wingman, and you need a plan B."

"What makes you think I have a plan A?"

"Maybe the amount of times I've heard you whisper under your breath in Norwegian. I saw that letter you got a couple of weeks ago; that's the stamp of the Norwegian Magical Government."

"I need a more oblivious study partner."

"Tish tosh. Besides, I'm going to keep nagging you until you give in. I've been told it's a Black trait I inherited at full strength."

"Nurture."

"Nature." Hermione slams her text shut dramatically. "Oh dear cousin, whatever will be made of me without your comforting, taciturn presence?"

"So many things, Black, so many things."

Under much duress, Hadrian RSVP's.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian finds himself apparating into Malfoy Manor on February 2nd, Hermione's arm in his. Their feet hit the unfeeling marble floors, each landing perfectly, legs bent.

"I've never been here before, but it seems they're lacking a greeter."

Hermione smiles. "Well I have, so don't worry your homosexual little head."

"What is it with parties and you mentioning my sexual orientation?"

Draco chooses that moment to stalk into the room, his hair mussed, collar misshapen. "Black, Potter."

"It's Evans now. You look lovely, Malfoy."

The blond wrinkles his nose, but he lets Hermione fix his collar, blush painted onto his sharp cheeks. "I'm sure there are magical families that would've given you their last name. Why, Black would fall over his own two feet."

Hadrian leans close, watching the blush deepen. "Maybe I don't give a fuck."

Draco stumbles back. "Wipe that stupid grin off of your face, Black. Follow me to the dining room. Don't fucking dally."

Hermione hooks her arm through Hadrian's. "Maybe if you stopped giving me reasons." Her eyes _glitter_.

The dining room is enormous, white walls hanging with expensive art, chandeliers dangling down crystals from twenty metres up. The table is set out like they're in the fucking Queen's palace. James has this kind of money, but Gryffindors don't seem as apt for diamond dinner parties.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Black." Mrs. Malfoy greets, raising her wine glass before approaching. "How lovely of you two to make it."

"He's Mr. Evans now, Mum." Draco flits his eyes through the room, landing on James Potter.

"But I'm sure everyone knows of it already." Hadrian smirks.

She smiles back, just as insincere. "One must be sure of these things."

"I think everyone will be sure, once my sperm donor has gotten into the drinks."

"Sperm donors are Muggle things." Hermione whispers loudly to the Malfoys.

"Of course." Mrs. Malfoy replies, looking disinterested. Hadrian would venture to guess she's anything but. There's certainly nothing like the drama of a disinherited child. "Draco, would you be a dear and greet the next set of guests? The alarms just went off."

_Draco dear_ seems a moment away from rolling his eyes, but he squares his shoulders and strides out of the room, sliding just a bit too close to Zabini (whose tie seems to have been tied in a hurry) on the way out.

The twelve members of the Board of Education have gathered into pairs, trying to seem like they want to be talking with the top ten seventh-year Hogwarts students. Most fail. Surprisingly, money doesn't necessarily mean intelligence.

"Your dress is a lovely colour on you, Ms. Black."

Hermione dips her chin, eyes cold. "Thank you, ma'am. Might I say that you stunning in blue?"

The small talk continues, but a sharp-cut figure in emerald robes has stepped into the room. James Potter leaves an old white wizard in the midst of a sentence, rushing over to shake the hand of the Minister.

Gaunt's magic twists in Hadrian's gut. Orbs of ice cut through his skin. The Minister finally acknowledges James' advances, focussing all his attention with an unbridled intensity.

Then he holds his palm out to Hadrian, all the way across the room, and waves him over, managing to look regal in the process.

James squares his shoulders, lips curling.

"This is your son, is it not?"

The wound is too raw. Hadrian is fucking stupid, but would it be so horrible to wish for a father that would at least _keep_ him?

Long fingers curl around Hadrian's shoulder, a digit sliding across the bare tendons of Hadrian's neck. Pears and musk whack though his nose with a blaze of colour behind his eyes. Anger and hate slap through his body.

"No he's not." James says with a tone of finality, nose raised to the sky.

"Indeed?" Gaunt smirks. "I hear he's the #1 student in Arithmancy and Potions by a high margin."

James glare seems to seep into Hadrian's body. It searches for weakness like a bloodhound, ready to pounce and rip away flesh. "He's not my son."

"But he once was, yes? Tell me, Mr. Potter, what do you expect to gain from approaching me in such a manner when this dinner is to celebrate these young adults' accomplishments, not to tear them down?"

James swallows. "Just be careful, sir. He might have fleas." Where did the fear go from being discovered? Why did Lily and James protect his identity all these years just to reveal it at maturity?

"I don't believe he's the wizard that needs to worry about his personal hygiene, Mr. Potter." The _Mr. Potter_ makes Gaunt's standing clear, putting James down like a naughty child.

"It seems my presence is required by Lord Malfoy." James directs a sneer at Hadrian, not bothering to take his leave properly. The man stomps off to the elder Malfoy's group, who's blank mask is most certainly hiding his derision.

"You look stunning tonight, Hadrian." Gaunt's attention latches onto Hadrian likes a high-powered hoover. His fingers gather around Hadrian's elbow, inches away from skin.

"As do you." Hadrian gathers himself and lifts his chin to stare straight into Gaunt's smiling eyes.

"Thank you, darling." Gaunt's free hand raises.

Hadrian should shake himself free. It takes one too many moments to do so.

"Do you enjoy this type of event?" Gaunt's skin is a perfect amount of tan against emerald, like ambrosia beats through his veins instead of blood.

"Had my cousin not dragged me, I wouldn't have come."

Gaunt chuckles. "I thought I'd have to rely on _her_ sense of propriety."

Hadrian rolls his eyes. He's no longer surprised at Gaunt's manipulations. "I do hope it's just the insane narcissist side of me saying that you organized this for me."

"Which answer would please you the most, darling?"

"Because if you did, I'm fairly sure it's because you wanted me to make _connections_, yes?"

Red lips curl into a smile. "Always so smart, my little wolf."

"And you're always so fucking patronizing." Hadrian mutters. "You'd drive a weaker man to drink."

Gaunt raises an eyebrow. At the wording? "Mr. Black has been waving at me for the past five minutes."

"Sirius isn't on the Board of Education."

"Wrong choice of words, Regulus' movements are infinitely more subtle than the verb 'wave' can conjure up. He's teaching you to duel, isn't he?"

Hadrian rolls his eyes. Always needing to be the arrogant Sherlock. "What brought you to that conclusion?"

"Lovely that you asked, dear." Gaunt smirks." I noticed last class. There's a certain flow about his style, and I can see it a bit in you."

Hadrian snags a flute of champagne from a server, keeping his eyes trained on Gaunt as he wiggles his fingers underneath the glass. He brings the water to his lips and takes a controlled sip.

Long fingers curl around Hadrian's. Gaunt's lips touch glass. An indirect kiss - like butterflies against cheeks. Anyone can step on a butterfly.

"Well, I better say hello to Regulus then, shouldn't I? Lovely seeing you, _darling_." Hadrian manages all the stereotypical homosexual accent in those two sentences, smiling and turning away.

"My daughter must have picked out your outfit."

"Perhaps." Hadrian keeps his face straight, picking at the embroidered gold sleeves of his purple robes. She said he looked like a king. Why would anyone want to?

Regulus' thin lips curl into a smile, eyes fixed on Hadrian like he's trying to snap a polaroid. "I'd like to speak to you seriously, if you would be willing?"

"Privately?"

"A corner and a muffliato will do."

Hadrian straightens his posture. He lets Regulus lead them away from most of the groups, beside a window brightened with ostentatious magic.

"We want you to be a Black."

Hadrian raises an eyebrow, insides whirling. "I don't need, nor want your name."

Regulus drops his chin and his voice. "Your grandmother was a Black. Sirius wants you to be a part of the family."

"So Lord Black can order me into submission? How about _no_?" Hadrian's nostrils flare. From across the room, Gaunt eyes catch on his, though his mouth moves to answer his conversational partner.

"Sirius and I view you as an equal."

Metal taps against glass. "Alright everyone, it's time for the first course!" Mrs. Malfoy's perfectly painted lips curl into a hostess smile. "The seating arrangement is marked."

Hadrian turns to Regulus. "I think it's time for us to discontinue our duelling lessons, but I did appreciate the _no-strings_ help while you gave it."

Regulus' lips press thinner.

Hadrian ends up seated far away from him, at the right hand of the end seat. Gaunt's eyes twinkle as he takes his seat - where Lucius Malfoy should be.

Mr. Malfoy sits across from Hadrian, a forty-year-old wizard trying not to pout.

The dinner goes by _achingly_ slow. Gaunt is the only person capable of actual interaction with Hadrian, and he gives it sparingly before dragging others to engage with Hadrian, though they don't seem to know it happened.

Hadrian exchanges pleasantries with a multitude of rich white wizards, and if Gaunt were not there he'd have been a whole lot ruder.

A hand lands on Hadrian's thigh mid conversation. Gaunt's interest beats like dialysis through his body. He swallows. The chandeliers suddenly seem all too twinkly. His fingers curl around Gaunt's; he's going to throw it off.

But then the _true_ light shakes through his body, colours, scents, and tastes vibrating through his nerve endings. It's so warm in his, so perfectly shaped.

Hadrian throws it away. Who is he, a fucking heroine in a romance novel?

Gaunt's eyes glitter. They should find someone else to focus on. Hadrian excuses himself, and Malfoy pretends to care.

The bathroom seems to have hidden itself. He's already opened too many opulent bedroom doors, surely these _people_ don't use _spells_?

A hand clenches vice-tight around Hadrian's elbow. He raises his chin and stares into hard hazel eyes. "Physical assault?"

James releases Hadrian, his nostrils flaring wide like a cobra's hood. He looks ridiculous.

"Are you just going to mouth-breathe over there or do you have some more vitriol to spit?"

"Your mother cries every night."

"And you think that's my doing?"

"If you'd been an obedient child -"

Hadrian smiles, and James stops off mid sentence. "We both know I haven't been a real human to you since I was eight years old."

"I'm not a bigot." James spits. "Remus was one of my best friends."

The smile brews hotter on Hadrian's cheeks. "I don't think he ever was, but please, do continue to talk yourself in circles."

"You listen to me and you listen good." James' finger strikes against Hadrian's chest, bourbon breath coating Hadrian's lungs. "I fucking raised you, and I deserve respect."

Hadrian's back hits stone wall. The cold seeps into his bones. "Dad, if you don't step away -"

A hand raises.

James flies back into the opposite wall, his back crunching, eyes wide. He slides to the floor. "You little shit." He gasps. "Don't think you'll get anywhere now. You'll be blackballed by every auror I can get my hands on, just you wait."

The frantic beating of Hadrian's heart pounds through his ears. He takes a deep breath and steps forward. "Do you want to know whom your unnatural, inhuman son is fucking right now?"

"I'm surprised you found anyone willing to keep a werewolf around."

"His name is Thomas Gaunt, father. We're taking it fairly slow, but I think he really loves me, you know? We might even be married straight out of Hogwarts. A little hard to blackball when I'm the Minister's lover, isn't it?"

James shudders. "You're a liar."

"Fortunately, he's not." A deep voice sounds from around the corner. Gaunt steps into view. "And I've already put the Auror Department under investigation."

Brown eyes grow wide, James wiggles his fingers in a sordid attempt at a wandless accio.

Long fingers pull James to his feet. Hadrian smirks when his father groans. He hopes he's done enough damage to last even after a trip to Saint Mungo's.

Gaunt's wand shoots out of an arm holster. "_Absencia sensia_."

James' head flops forward. Gaunt keeps the limp man upright, before casting a second spell that leaves James partly attached to the wall.

"We'll have to do a proper investigation of the whole thing, but you won't be convicted of anything, little wolf."

"As if I ever had any doubt."

Thomas smirks. "Right." He steps forward. "You could only admit it to the one you hate the most, is that correct?"

"You're delusional." Hadrian leans his weight against the wall opposite. His heart is still beating too fast.

"The bond connects us, but any romantic attachments are entirely our own."

"Thank you for explaining it to me, I was so confused." Hadrian forces himself to take a step forward.

Thomas lifts his chin, hand sliding along Hadrian's cheek. It would be so easy to sigh and fall into it.

Hadrian steps away. "We need to contact some non-dirty aurors."

"I've already vetted half the department, darling. Why the hurry?"

"I've got plans with Hermione. Will you fucking call them or not?"

Gaunt tilts his head. "As you wish."

o0o0o0o

"Code patricide." Hadrian whispers, slipping his arm through Hermione's elbow and leading her away from a _riveting_ conversation.

"I understand your meaning dear, but we need to actually make codes before you use them." She stops, eyes slipping along his face. "What did he do?"

"The aurors are taking him now. I just made my statement. Self-defence."

Her warm brown orbs harden, sweeping around the room. "I think it's time for us to take our leave."

He tucks her elbow through his, scared to open his mouth. He might say _thank you_.

Thomas - Gaunt has already made another appearance, explaining a vague situation to the Board of Education. They gasp and make comments all at the right moments.

Blue eyes burn into his form as he leads Hermione to the apparition room.

o0o0o0o

**The whole slightly-sexual chase scene trope is one of my favs. Sorry not sorry. This chapter is an actual beast. I thought I'd finished it and was working on Ch 11-13 this week, and then I went back to check and I had left three scenes unfinished, lol. **

**Thx to Anplasce over on FF for correcting my German. Gefährte, not Gefährter;)**

**We be getting closer to the smut! (But still so far;)**


	11. A Grand Adventure

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 11- _A Grand Adventure_

Hermione apparates them to the Leaky Cauldron, where they transfigure their clothing and step out into the Muggle world.

Her hair had been well tamed for the dinner party, still perfect ringlets cascading down her jumper. She grabs his hand - "Let's go gorge ourselves on fast food."

_James' back slams against the wall._ Hadrian gives himself a mental shake. "Where are you thinking?"

"McDonald's ice cream is calling my name." Her steps bounce, pulling them along past the well-coated Londoners.

"I've never had American food before."

Hermione's trainers squeak to a stop. "_Pardon you? _You've never tasted the wondrous sugary fattiness of a McFlurry?"

"Mum preferred quaint coffee shops."

She blinks. "Your mind is about to be blown and become addicted to something incredibly unhealthy, you're welcome."

Hermione resumes tugging them along, her hand warm and slightly sweaty in his. Any passerby would assume them a young couple on an evening out. It would make Hadrian's life so much easier if that were true.

They pass a brick-walled cinema, movie posters plastered inside its dark windows. "Ooh, that looks cute!"

"Are those the same girl?"

"Maybe." She cocks her head to the side. "I can't quite tell."

Her eyes fix on the actors names.

Hadrian clears his throat."Are you always this window-shoppy?"

Hermione turns her stare to him, a light smile on her lips. "Not always, but I figured we should make this a fun night out and distract ourselves a bit. The world's our oyster and all that."

Right. Thomas stepped in to save the day, and Hadrian has only three weeks before he's free. There are no James Frederick Potters in Norway. "Innit weird? I don't feel like anything happened."

"You might be disassociating; I've seen you do it a couple times under stress."

"Do you really pay that much attention to me?"

Her voice lowers, "You're my friend, Hads, and you don't take very good care of yourself. No one else looks out for you."

"I'm not a child."

She sighs. "No one said you were. It's not childlike to have friends to rely on."

"It is when they're going to let you down."

Her steps quicken. "There's those beautiful golden arches. Let's get you that wondrous McFlurry. I highly recommend the Oreo."

The dairy dessert as all that Hermione hyped it to be, but Hadrian's stomach begins twisting at the third bite, and he can't stop until seven.

He turns in the booth, biting his fist. Rain drips down the smoggy windows. Black umbrellas seeming to travel in packs.

Hermione's blissed out ice-cream face wrinkles at the corners. "Are you alright?"

"I think something at the party just hit me wrong, is all."

"You only had a small flute of champagne."

"I'm feeling a bit off, Hermione; it will go away in a minute."

The deep-fryer hisses in the back of the building, grease and salt drifting through the air, so potent it screams at the back of Hadrian's throat. He swallows another wave, his free hand landing on his stomach.

Him and his fucking pride. "I'm going to vomit."

Hermione bursts forward with all the speed and clear-headedness of a nurse. A notice-me-not glows yellow in her jacket; she grabs his hand.

They disapparate. Hadrian's body squeezes through the magical tube, the pressure increasing in his organs like bagpipes squished flat.

Their feet hit mossy ground, and Hadrian's stomach gives a final twist. He falls to his knees, heaving the ice cream, champagne, and lunch sandwich back into the earth.

"Oh Merlin." Hermione whispers.

Hadrian's eyes flutter open, bright white painting over his eyeballs. His world screams back into focus. There's smatters of blood in the puke.

He pushes himself up to his feet, trying to force the world not to spin. "I'm fine." The words have lost their meaning.

"Is this from the illness you had before winter break?"

"I handled that. I…. I don't know why this is happening."

Her hands curl around his biceps, eyes wide. "We need to get you to hospital."

"I'm can't go to St. Mungo's."

"_Hadrian_."

"We can figure this out together, can't we? I've studied healing spells and so have you."

Her lip sneaks under her teeth. "You could die."

"I'm not going."

Hermione's mouth purses. She grabs his hand. "Hadrian, if we find any notion that this is rapidly developing, I'm taking you against your will."

"Just give us a week to figure it out."

"You've never missed a class."

"Neither have you."

His hand protests at her grip, which only seems to strengthen. "One week."

She leads him a couple hundred metres through the forest, careful footed, her eyes flickering back and forth. "It's just around this corner."

They circle around a thick copse of oak. The building's spires attempt to poke open the clouds, gothic inspired arched windows glowing with lamplight. Hadrian stretches his senses. A dozen sets of house-elves feet pattering against stone floor.

Hermione turns back to him. "This is the Black vacation house, believe it or not, but the one no one likes because it's basically Dracula's castle."

"I can agree with that statement."

"My ancestors were such fucking creeps." She pulls him through the door. It's always amazing how Hermione can just say things like that. She was blood adopted when she was six - Hadrian can't say anything so flippantly, and James and Lily fucking birthed him.

"Will your fathers know we're here?"

"Just two rooms, Linky." The little house who just appeared pops away, ears flopping against its head.

"The house elves won't tell. Sirius gifted it to me last birthday as a joke."

Hadrian coughs out a laugh, nearly losing his guts once more.

Hermione's hands rub his back. "Sorry."

"Yes, apologize for your father's amazing sense of humour."

"It seems to have caused quite a bit of pain throughout his lifetime."

"Though not as much as a dictator."

"Quite. Come on, our rooms will be next to each other."

Hadrian takes the stone steps one at a time, trying to keep his face placid. "There must be wings upon wings in this place."

"Don't think I'm letting you out of my sight for a minute, not when you seem to be dying of consumption with no one the wiser."

"They don't call it that anymore, and I'm not dying of a fucking _Muggle_ disease."

"Because that would be so plebeian."

"You understand the core of my being, cousin." They finally reach the second floor. Hadrian sighs, feet stuttering over the red-carpeted walkway. "It's as fucking dreary as Hogwarts in here."

"I think you're one of the only students to ever think of Hogwarts as dreary."

"Hmm."

Hermione pulls them into a suite. "You'll be on the sinister side." She points to the left door.

"Thank you. It's late, and I should retire."

"Really." An eyebrow raises.

The gentleman tone breaks into voice crack. "Hermione."

"Alright, cousin. See you in the morning."

He leans against the closed green door, listening for Hermione's fading footsteps.

Unadulterated _want_ screams through Hadrian's body, driving him back down to his knees. Gaunt knows that he's left. Hadrian lets out a shaky breath, pressing his hands against the stone floor. Feel the cold.

If he hadn't have signed that stupid contract he could run away like a normal teenager. Hadrian falls down on his stomach, pressing his cheek against marble.

A fire attempts to brand itself on his limbs. Gaunt managed to block it, he said, so why can't Hadrian?

It's like there's a string of anal beads strung through his intestines, being pulled forward by a sadistic hand, emotions and sickness worsening his situation. It's never lasted this long before. How much more can he take?

Hadrian slips back into his brain, plunging into his mindscape. He lets the flowers overwhelm. If he could just bring them back with him.

"Hads!" A female voice shrieks. Small hands curl into his ribs, trying to shake the ghost away.

Hadrian blinks. A lumos tries to plaster its light over his eyeballs, his bones brittle and cold against the stone floor. He sits up.

Hermione's nightgown renders her more like a phantom, wild hair and dark eyes referencing the fairy tale witches those Muggles love to ostracise. "That's it, I'm childproofing against you. Are you alright?"

The face of her clunky brown watch spins into a pentagon, the single arrow pointing to one of the five words - awake.

"I just… fell asleep here."

She gives him a _look_.

"What is the time, since you've banished your watch to make room for a fucking tracking charm?" He says pleasantly. Whatever time he spent sleeping has done him good. Perhaps Gaunt is sleeping now.

"It's 8 o'clock in the morning. The house elves will bring breakfast to the library." She tugs him up to his feet, surprisingly strong for her stature and build.

The pages of Hadrian's journal turn obnoxiously in Hermione's hands. He tries to stop himself from flinching each time, but his annoyance only grows.

"It's right."

Hadrian blinks blearily. While he seems to have slept long enough, his body has taken the brunt of it, now aching from his floor-mattress. His eyes almost cross. Hermione's figure blurs out and in.

"Hads. Your potion _should've_ worked."

"I miscalculated something." He murmurs. "No need to rub it in."

"Unless you're not telling me an important piece of the puzzle."

Hadrian shakes himself awake. "_Hermione_."

"I don't know what I'm looking for. Hads, I need a patient history. Coughing up blood is a fairly usual side effect of anything _dangerous_." She gives him a chastising look, of the like he hasn't seen before the incident of 1988.

His eyes slip back to the tiny words of the Latin tome, it's not anywhere near helpful. Maybe the next chapter?

A cough slams into his body. Hadrian tries to catch it with his fist in front of his mouth, but the blood sinks into the parchment anyways.

"It's alright, lean over, try to breathe, Hads."

He finally manages to stop, resting his forehead on his arm, blinking down at his knees. The green trousers were bought just this summer, but now they bag around the thighs, threatening to slip down his hips. He must be putting too much power behind the cleaning spells.

A sigh escapes his lips. "The only person that knows is Snape. I can't - I don't - if this fucking gets in anyone's hands other than your own..."

"I know you have trust issues." She whispers, hand rubbing circles into his back. "But I've never betrayed you, ever. You're my _brother_, Hadrian, in everything but blood."

Hadrian lets the time slip by. A grandfather clocks seems to yell each passing second at them. "When I was sick over the Hols, it was because I performed Optimus Sui."

"What went wrong?" Hermione's voice shakes, as if she's struggling not to berate him for the lack of self-preservation.

The hand feels so nice. "I woke up and found myself bonded to Minister Gaunt."

The hand stops. "Hadrian."

"His emotions, they're overwhelming, and that's why I fell, but we signed a contract, we're working it out."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No."

The circles begin again. "What next?"

"The only other thing that might've affected me was the potion, but I've only taken one attempt since the ritual."

"That night you were upset."

"Yes. If it failed, it shouldn't have affected a werewolf physiology, not with those ingredients."

"Cousin."

He finally raises his head, staring into serious brown eyes.

"Have you taken a creature test since the ritual?"

The seconds pass by achingly, bruising the inside of his ribs. "Fuck. I'm an absolute idiot."

"No." She says vehemently. "You've just had other concerns. Come on, I'll brew it right now."

Hermione's fingers curve into Hadrian's elbow, deceptively strong as she leads him into the basement.

She pulls the blood from under his skin with all the skill of an elderly nurse, hand unshaking where it clasps around his forearm.

"I'll help you."

Her mouth purses. She pushes him into a sturdy corner chair. "Not with you potentially coughing extra blood into the cauldron, you're not. Sit."

Hermione looks lovely when she has a purpose. Her eyes narrow in tunnel vision, hands graceful and quick as she shakes and pours ingredients. Her dress whispers around her body at each movement like shaking leaves attached to a heavy-rooted maple.

She brews the potion within an hour, working tirelessly in the well-lit basement workshop.

"Do you brew many potions here?"

Hermione shrugs, lips moving as she counts each stir in the cauldron. "Sirius is squeamish for the darker stuff."

A deep purple bleeds through light yellow, conquering the weaker colour and releasing an itchy, overripe banana smell. Hermione counts her final stir. She steps back from the potion.

Her hair has only climbed higher from the basement humidity, eyeliner spell dripping away from the toxicity, fingers stained and steady as she scoops a vialful.

It's a twist of bleach and banana screaming down Hadrian's esophagus. Something bounces up his throat. He falls to his knees, leaning forward and coughing out a little piece of parchment.

His fingers shake around the crumpled ball, peeling it apart, his own spit slathered around it like the chocolate coating on M&M's.

_Hadrian Charles Evans (Born Potter)_

_50% Werewolf_

_20% Human Wizard (Male)_

_14% Fae_

_14% Basilisk_

_2% Vampire_

Hadrian falls into a couch, head falling into his hands. "What the actual fuck?"

"The aconite must have reacted with the vampire DNA." Hermione murmurs, denting the seat beside him. "He made himself a tribrid."

"And the bond is trying to make me compatible to him."

"It must have been slowly working its way through your body when you took the potion. The speed is what's hitting your body. Your cells are destabilizing."

"What the fuck, Hermione? Do you just pull that out of your arse?"

"No. I read the rest." She shoves the paper back at him, showing him the back side.

_UNSTABLE CREATURE._

Hadrian swallows. "Hermione."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever read anything about unstable magical creatures?"

She hesitates. "No."

"Me neither." Hadrian lets his head drops into his lap. "I'm not going to give up."

"And you shouldn't, but…" Clothes rustle, a hand curls around Hadrian's.

He swallows. "Completing the bond might be my best chance at stabilizing the genes."

Hermione's scent nears. Hadrian turns to his side, inches away from tearing hazel eyes.

Her eyelashes drift downward, deep brown against her cheeks. "Do you… like him?"

"I'm not going to bond with him, Herm, and I don't want to live for eternity."

She sighs. "I'm going to keep looking."

Magic curls around Hadrian's body like an embrace. The stone floor leaves his cheek. His body sinks into a marshmallow, Hadrian blinks around from the red sofa. Hermione already has three tomes open, her intense study face on.

He should help her. Any moment now, he'll get up and open a book. Study for hours beside his best friend. She shouldn't do this all alone, especially since -

He sleeps.

o0o0o0o

"It's beautiful."

Hadrian's feet hit the earth. He turns to the voice.

Thomas' red mouth crooks into a smirk, his muscular frame in a thin black robe.

Hadrian drags his eyes away from the soft hairs of Thomas' chest. "Get out."

"Now now, this won't take long, darling." Long fingers curl around Hadrian's shoulder, bleeding warmth through the thick fabric of his plain white robes.

"Thomas." Hadrian whispers. "You should go."

"Not until I know why you left." They drift closer like an inevitable tide bringing in an unmanned canoe.

"Have the charges against James stuck?"

Thomas nods, a finger sliding along the tendon of Hadrian's neck. His eyelashes flutter, and he sways. His dream self isn't excused from the ailment sweeping through his body. "Where are you, love? What's going on?"

Hadrian manages to pull himself away. "Did Regulus not show you the letter I sent?"

"Schooling is not something that overwhelms you. Or her."

"We'll be back soon."

"Whatever is ailing you, I have vast resources."

"I'm not sick." Even as he says it, the lie reverbates in Hadrian's chest. His eyes drift close. The grass is soft enough; he can just fall back -

Hands clasp around his hips. Hadrian blinks into deep maroon eyes.

"You're risking your life against for your _pride_." Thomas spits. "If you think I would allow -"

Hadrian manages a sneer. "I'm not your plaything."

"The month isn't up, love. Stay with me while we figure it out."

"No."

"You're going to commit suicide -"

Bare feet penetrating squishy earth. Hadrian burts forward, ready to break through the dome he's encased his brain in.

"_Hadrian_."

He explodes awake, sheets attempting to live their best lives as a straightjacket. Hadrian struggles. Frees himself and runs to the bathroom.

An apparition-like twist spills through his stomach, and he gags into the toilet. Eventually the nausea stops. It's four a.m. and Hadrian is wide awake. He pads into the library. Tries to research.

Three hours pass before Hermione finds him. He hasn't turned the page, though he's been staring at it long enough to consume the information. She drags him to breakfast.

"If you don't eat at least half of that I'm making you take a nutrition potion."

Hadrian looks up from his three jam covered pancakes. "I'm not -"

"A fucking child, I know, but you're not eating enough to maintain your weight."

His wand slaps against skin. "I'm the better dueller."

"And I'm the only one without a terminal illness here." Hermione's mouth twists, face wrinkling into an ugly expression. "Get your head out of your arse."

Hadrian deflates like a balloon, slamming back into his chair. "No matter how it goes into my stomach it always comes back up."

"The anti-nausea haven't been helping?"

"It vomits back up with everything else."

And now she looks fucking worried. Hermione pulls her chair in closer to his. "I'm going to spell it into your stomach."

Hadrian feels like an old man slumping in on himself. "Go ahead."

Her wand swishes through the air. Hadrian's stomach squeezes and protests. Breathing exercises help, but it still takes a couple minutes to recover from the pain. Nothing wants to stay down.

Within two days Hermione has to help him dress with spells. Mortification seems to have died with his ability to sleep. He spends his time half-dozing on the couch.

He shouldn't give up like this. He's always been strong. Nothing James ever said could hurt him. The full moon never left a dent.

After a fitful doze, Hadrian finds himself being covered in scouring spells and squirming against the feeling.

"Hermione."

She raises her hands. "I can't let you die, Hads." Her voice is gentle and shaking.

"Whom did you inform?" He has to press an arm on his stomach.

"Whoever was most likely to be able to help you."

Hadrian groans, falling to his knees. "We're so close."

"I know we are, but not enough, dear." Her hand coaxes through his air, tracing comfort into his scalp.

The front door creaks open.

He stutters to his feet. Thomas' feelings dilute Hadrian's blood, an indistinguishable mixture of something heavy and sweet on his tongue.

It's this moment that Hadrian has been rushing to avoid. Thomas cuts a powerful figure against the doorframe, large shoulders filling the space. His eyes are dark, seeming to flicker red in the lighting.

"Darling, what have you done to yourself?" Warm fingers clasp around Hadrian's chin.

He fixes his eyes on the fireplace. "Does he know what you do, Hermione?"

"Yes." She whispers.

Hadrian exhales slowly. He'd been so ready to surrender before the bright colours danced once more. "You'll fix me, won't you?"

"Of course, love." Red eyes bore into his frame. The firelight seems to gleam off of Thomas' neck in sparkles. "Let's go to mine."

"I don't know if I'll wake up." A cough hits Hadrian's body like a lightning bolt, trying to send him crashing against the floor.

Arms clasp around his waist, careful not to squeeze through the coughing fit. "Don't worry. I've got you."

The warm someone carries him away.

The world flies by in slow motion, Hadrian is the only thing with life and breath. He forces every remaining piece of energy into his muscles. Like a cheetah, he only has a good sprint left in his body.

And just as abruptly as he began this run, he falls. Dirt scratches into his face. He's going to fall asleep in the middle of a magical forest.

Warmth reaches out a tendril. Twigs crack nearby. Thomas' steps grow closer. Hadrian should've been able to beat it on his own.

But now there's darkness, warmth, and the pulsing of his heart, which at some moment seems rhythmic and soothing, and at others like a drum to signal his death, bringing anxiety with every beat.

Hadrian gives himself up to it. _Let go just this one time._

So it goes.

o0o0o0o

**We reached 100 bookmarks! I can't thank y'all enough for the lovely comments and kudos! I'm hoping to finish this story by June, so it really helps to have some boosters of motivation:D**

**A kind of depressing chapter, but it had to be done. Next one will be a little snippet from Thomas' perspective:)**

**(The movie Hadrian and Hermione discuss at the beginning is the Lindsay Lohan Parent Trap.)**

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews! **


	12. Thomas

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 12 - _Thomas_

Thomas steals Hadrian away with a nod from Miss Black. Hadrian looks lovely against purple silk, like a flower about to open.

He weaves a status spell into Hadrian's skin. It's a difficult, powerful version that will give him the time he needs, but one must be careful not to freeze too much or the result won't awaken.

The crumpled creature test nearly alights in his fingers. Thomas inhales deeply, squaring his shoulders. _Werewolf, human, basilisk, fae, vampire_. All five cannot coexist in a creature without outside influence.

He runs a finger down a sharp cheek.

Hadrian has gotten much too skinny in the last month. His cheekbones are too sharp, lips dry and cracked, his body swamped in white healing robes. Thomas sighs, trailing a finger further along the beautiful, brittle features, tracing the apparent veins on his exposed forearm. Hadrian's chest must continue to rise and fall.

Nothing should fell his Aurora but age; he will find the solution before then.

A spell whispers through his brain, tugging books from his many bookshelves. They navigate themselves to his study table.

Thomas stretches out his hand to grab the first one - scales flash instead of skin. He controls his breathing and reaches forward again.

There's no room to get overwhelmed. Once Hadrian is fixed, they'll have all the time the world has to give.

This is the only book Thomas has ever found that showed a successful hybrid magical. Geoffrey Roe, who managed to balance Veela and Fae genes together. Admittedly, the creatures were similar enough to start, but they showed Thomas that is was possible.

So he reached for the stars like Mama always told him to.

Thomas has memorized the pages, but he reads them again.

Slow, methodical, calm. Hadrian will thank him when he wakes. How lovely it will be to see those shamrock eyes gleaming with emotion once more.

His little wolf. Perfect.

o0o0o0o

It's a week before Thomas admits that it's time to bring in the pledged. He still has plenty of time before the full moon (and before the contract ends), but he's without results, and Hadrian's sleeping form just doesn't bring the comfort of a warm, awake one.

Regulus appears within seconds of the call, hand wrapped around his forearm. He falls to his knees. "My Lord?"

"I'm sure you're aware that Hadrian Evans seems to have disappeared."

"I… I was sure he was with you."

"Indeed?"

Regulus' dark eyes glitter in the torchlight. Always too smug for his own good. "Is he well, my Lord?"

"Give me your forearm."

The Black Lord does so, head bowed obediently. Thomas pulls up the charcoal sleeves, revealing a stationary tattoo locked around the strong wrist. The snake curls around itself like Ouroboros, chainlike and deep green.

Thomas presses down at the vein. The small, red-eyed snake hisses, opening Regulus' mind to him like an egg thrown onto asphalt.

His pledged's mind shows sincerity, an honest care for Hadrian that Thomas cannot begrudge him for.

Thomas releases him. "Severus will brief you on what I require."

Regulus' eyes flash, face tightening. "Yes, my lord."

"Will that be a problem?" How funny.

"I will not allow it to be."

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "See that you do that." He strides to the next room, where Severus has spread a desk full of notes, his attention fixed on his work.

"Snape." Regulus says, conjuring himself a chair.

The two men spend the day in discussion and planning, the notes expanding into theory and arithmancy. Thomas stands in the corner and adds what he can, burning like a witch at the stake.

The sun has long gone down when they dismiss for bed. Severus sneers, but lets Regulus wave him forward, sweeping out of the room.

"Sir?"

"Regulus?" Thomas says steadily.

The Black Lord squares his shoulders. "Permission to speak candidly?"

"I'm not a general. Say what you wish."

"While I do appreciate you not completing the bond with Hadrian against his wants, do you intend to do so if we fail?"

"You are the best." _You won't fail. _

Regulus sighs. "And you two are equally stubborn."

"Remember who I am, Regulus, and check yourself. I know you can succeed, but disappoint me."

"Loud and clear, my lord."

o0o0o0o

Thomas cools his features and strides to the room next door. Severus and Regulus halt their bickering, straightening into parade rest.

"Have you made any progress?"

Severus steps forward. "Our projections seem to have lacked for an ingredient."

If Hadrian dies… life will be inexplicably grey, no matter how many laws Thomas can pass. "Have you narrowed down what it lacks?"

"Some sort of binding agent. All the different species properties leave so many holes for reactions. They don't seem to want to play nice."

His teeth grinds together, fangs itching underneath his gums. "Perhaps powdered moonstone?"

Severus frowns. "We need something… incredibly powerful. Above most illegal potion ingredients."

"What about my blood?"

The two scientists freeze, exchanging a look. "My lord, we know he's bonded to you, but that would be -"

"Irrevocable. I understand, but we don't have time left for worries about Hadrian's wishes. He must not die." The full moon looms nearer. Thomas has no room for error.

Severus and Regulus bow their heads. "We'll begin reworking the equation, then."

"I will join you."

"Sir." Severus begins hesitantly. "We do know you possess a large amount of knowledge, but we will be able to succeed with this."

Thomas raises an eyebrow. Tries to stifle the boiling in his esophagus. "Perhaps my presence will make the formation quicker."

"What Severus means to say is: you haven't slept since you brought us in three days ago, and your presence will raise nerves more than speed. We've pledged to serve you, My lord, we will do this right." Regulus, always the politician.

Telling Thomas off like he's a child - no. He's not, but he has enough fae and human blood to render him useless without the occasional slumber.

He nods and leaves the room. His fingers attempt to massage the headache away from his forehead, only spreading sweat along his skin. Hadrian makes him… all too human.

"_The wolfling is still ill?_" Nagini hisses, coils streaming along the cold marble floor of Thomas' bedroom.

"Yes, my dear."

She hisses again, tail slipping off of her hot rock, where she spends most of her time in front of the fireplace. "_I will watch the underlings while you sleep._"

"Thank you." Thomas' fingers smoothly unbutton his robes. He falls into his king sized bed, silk cocoon around his form.

Just wait. Someday, the other side won't be empty.

The forked tongue of a snake twists into Thomas' ear. "_They've found it, master._"

He scissors upwards, scarcely managing to dress himself properly before going into a power walk down the hallways.

"What is it?"

"We've got the stablizior."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"We can't afford to put Hadrian to sleep again. If you bite him-"

"It could wipe his werewolfism out completely."

Severus swallows. "It might be the only option for survival."

"I'm not a simpleton. I'll do whatever it takes."

Regulus' eyes widen, though the rest of his features remain calm.

"I wake him up and get him to drink this. How long before I know if it's working or not?" Thomas' hand stretches out, nails elongated. He hovers it above Regulus' throat.

"The transformation will occur." Severus whispers. He walks forward slowly, pulling Regulus behind him.

o0o0o0o

**Because this chapter is so short, I decided to post Sunday anyways:) I'll try to get back on schedule, but some shit has been hitting the fan with finals and a close family death. Hope everyone else is doing well, lol:)**


	13. Then the Lightning Hit Me

**Warning: This chapter is super dramatic (surprise surprise) and involves suicidal thoughts.**

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 13 - _Then the Lightning Hit Me_

When Hadrian plunges back through the black mire, Thomas awaits him. An earthquake roars through his body, bruising his insides. Hadrian can't stop the scream from leaving his lips.

"Drink this, love." Long fingers curl around his cheek, cold glass pressed to his lower lip. It's pickled peaches on his tongue.

The aftershock trembles harder than the original earthquake. Hadrian scissors up, letting his voice run forward with more energy than ever before.

His mindspace is so far away. He scrambles, but it pops away like a wet bar of soap.

Those hands pet along his arms, pushing him back down on the bed. Whispered words fuzz in his ears. Hadrian yells again, but the voice continues.

The pain begins to drift away from his fingertips. Hadrian squirms. It's subsiding. All he has to do is get through -

A burn sizzles through his veins, everywhere all at once. Hadrian manages to push the hands away, his sight gone, but his feet throwing his body forward. His nose leads him through the house, feet slamming against cold floor.

He turns a sharp corner, hand breaking through gyprock, the dust powdering his hand like chalk on a gymnast's.

A locked door tries to keep him in. The smooth handle easily detaches. Hadrian slams his shoulder forward - it cracks and slams against the ground.

A set of feet draw closer.

Hadrian bursts forward. Fresh pine and cedar draw him, the moist grass squelching and cold. More scents distract. Hadrian bobs around the trees - their sap a wide beacon to his nose.

"Hadrian." A voice calmly sounds, though its steps are much too quick. It brings with it _light. _Sight slams back into Hadrian's brain like a hippogriff attack. The voice brings a new colour. Everything is so _green_ and bright, tree boughs filtering white spots onto the forest floor.

There's much more land to cover, lovely, dark and deep, but Hadrian listens - for

once - and halts. His hand strikes up, fingertips sliding along rough bark.

A figure approaches. He's cloaked in black, shoulders wide and held back. A hood hides his hair, but the sharp lines of his features _shine_.

Hadrian steps forward. His skin seems electrified, sight sharper than ever before. He breathes in, the particles scratching along his throat. Thomas smells of fire, frozen decay, and _arousal_. There's no questioning what that means - Hadrian _drinks_ it in.

Each step is laden with power. Is this what a cheetah feels like? Having the ability to sprint forward at the speed of light at any given moment? Could Hadrian crush a rock with his bare hands?

Before he's done that thought his hand reaches, clasping around a tree and turning it's barrel to dust. He bats away the falling pine, not taking his eyes off the beautiful sight of _mate_.

Then Thomas dips his chin, returning the stare of _want, _and Hadrian remembers why the answer was always no.

Hadrian inhales deeply, letting his ears hook on the sounds of screaming squirrels and twittering birds. It's only February, but winter seems to have taken a pass on this section of Britain.

"Why all three?"

Thomas smiles. "A vampire for immortality, fae to lend control to the bloodthirsty instincts, and a basilisk to harden my skin."

"That simple?" Hadrian's nose is just a nudge away from Thomas' neck. "You must have spent years developing the proper ratios."

Thomas hums, hand slowly raising - giving Hadrian time to say no - and curling around Hadrian's shoulder. A finger thumbs along his rapidly beating pulse point.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"You were under the status spell for three weeks and four days. It's February 20th."

Hadrian twitches. "The full moon is tomorrow."

"I'm aware, as are you that your change might not undertake?"

His heart constricts, trying to shrink his body into a withered corpse. Hadrian sucks in a breath, _so dramatic_. But he won't be a bitch and yell at Thomas. It's his own fault; he sacrificed Hedwig and his species for a controlling wanker around this corner.

Then Thomas' finger strokes along his collarbone, and an odd warmth soothes his tight chest. "There's a chance the werewolf part of you will be stronger than the others."

Hadrian finally manages to step back. "I should be _happy_ to be _alive_." His mouth twists, tone attempting to mimic Thomas'.

"You look lovely with scales." As if a compliment will fix the three other creatures whose blood now gushes through Hadrian's veins.

Thomas raises two hands palm up. A plain silver mirror appears. "Would you like to see, darling?"

Hadrian grits his teeth, the mirror cool against his skin. He swallows. The changes would be subtle to the human eye - not to his enhanced vision. Tracings of scales coat the sides of an ivory white neck. His eyes shine clearer, pupil slitted in even brighter green. Fuller black hair brushes his shoulders. But the most noticeable change is -

"Fuck." He nearly drops the mirror in raising his fingers, feeling the points of his ears. He's very obviously _fae. "_I'll have to weave a glamour enchantment before I go back to Hogwarts."

Thomas' mouth purses. "There's no reason for you to return."

"My year is almost done."

"And you could pass your NEWTS as an infernus. I'll book them for you."

"Do you expect me to stay _here_?" Hadrian steps forward, fists clenched at his sides. "It's been a month - our contract is over."

Thomas smiles. Hands grip around Hadrian's shoulders, and his back flattens against a tree. He could spring backwards, taking nature with him.

Thomas' breath floats across Hadrian's face, his fingers sliding along the scales of his neck. "So you'll go back to your life of hiding, pretending you're not brilliant, stealing away every night to suffer pain from my emotions?"

"I was never fucking pretending anything." Hadrian inhales deeply, trying to slow his heartbeat.

"No. I guess not." Thomas leans forward and his nose hits the tendon of Hadrian's neck. It slides up. Hadrian sighs, grabbing Thomas' shoulders to push him away. "But you were waiting, weren't you? For someone like me to see what you really are, behind all the masks."

"_Thomas_."

"Hadrian. Stay here." The _please_ bleeds through in his expression. "Everything you thought Norway could give, you can have here."

"Not solitude."

"We'll draw up another contract." Thomas slowly brings his hands around Hadrian's waist. When Hadrian doesn't do anything, he pulls him against his chest.

"I'm not your fucking doll."

"Never. Try it, love."

Hadrian has no obligations. He could go back to how life was before, but Thomas' words ring through his brain. Is Norway a pipe dream? Or will this be better, working for the British Minister of Magic?

Hadrian extricates himself from Thomas' grip. "Where's my room?"

The room is not too large, though full of dark wood furniture, the back wall entirely spelled glass, looking out into the lush green courtyard.

He swallows. It smells of cleaning spells, but no humanoids. The drawers are full of scentless clothes that should fit his body, all deep colours, green and black.

The metal lamp is cool around his fingertips. Hadrian gives a shaky exhale, closing his eyes. Stainless steel warps into a plain carving knife.

Hadrian's sleep has left him dirtied, crusty and heavy in the bones. There's three mirrors in his bathroom, all of different sizes and ornate frames. He sighs. Steps under heavy spray.

It beats against his back like a summer typhoon. He takes a brush and soap and peels away skin - raw, red, and rancid. His tongue tickles with iron. A strange desire attempts to overtake -

Hadrian shudders away from it. To lick his own blood? He scrubs harder.

He's a werewolf, through and through. That's what he's always been: a moonhowler and a mongrel, stronger than a _normal_ wizard. Hadrian was going to conquer.

The steam makes breathing difficult. Hadrian stops - his hand slamming against the marbled tile. And he doesn't need to. Lungs are strange creatures and apparently unneeded. His sight continues, noting the texture of the bathroom walls, the glass, the water droplets which seem to rain in slow motion.

He sucks in a breath so his brain will _stop_.

There's clothes in the armoire, and they had to have been picked for him. Simple cut robes from sharp, dark colours. He slips into a thin set of black. There's something beautiful about his face in the mirror, though there shouldn't be.

He's packed bags underneath his eyes, bruises of purple like a wide brush stroke. His skin is too thin.

Vampire, fae, basilisk, werewolf, human. Enough boxes to scare a shipping company.

Hadrian snatches up his rune knife and presses hard against skin. It doesn't break. He knew it wouldn't. What would?

He raises his wrist to his mouth, the green undertone shimmering in the natural light from outside. His gums _ache._

A heavy hand knocks against his door. Hadrian swallows and lowers his wrist.

After the third house elf bounced off Hadrian's defenses, Thomas must have decided to use his own feet and ears.

Knuckles rap against wood, Thomas' slow creature heart signaling his presence. His thick scent drifts under the door.

Hadrian stops himself from sniffing it like a drug addict. He opens the door, and Thomas immediately leans against the doorframe, nose inches from Hadrian's.

"You've been busy, love." Thomas cocks his head, eyes flitting behind him. "Why don't you key me into the wards?"

A smile fights for location. Hadrian clears his throat. "No."

Darkness tightens Thomas' features. "If that's how you wish it to be." _I'll find a way eventually._

"Was there anything you wanted?"

"You haven't had dinner, and the house elves don't seem to be allowed anywhere near your room."

"I'm sufficiently fed."

"Or you're taking advantage of the new vampire genes to do away with a pesky habit." Thomas' hand curls around Hadrian's wrist, which seems to have migrated across the threshold.

Hadrian lifts his chin and smirks. "You going to drag me to dinner?"

"I'm hoping you're not going to neglect your physical needs." _Like an idiot. _

"Lead the way, then."

Thomas' dining room seems to be laden for a banquet, though there's only four dark wood chairs at the table. Hadrian stifles a shiver. The many different meats fill the air with their scent, triggering something that readies him to pounce.

"Your pupils are dilated." Thomas muses. His fingers slip underneath Hadrian's chin.

No more scaredy cat. Hadrian steps forward, mouth inches from Thomas'. He watches the pupil split, iris taking over almost all the white space. "As are yours."

Thomas smiles. Steps away and pulls out a chair. "Severus and Regulus may be joining us for dinner."

Hadrian raises a brow.

"They… created the stabilizer for you." Thomas seats himself across the table.

Hadrian leans over his empty plate. "Thank you, for asking for help." His hand sneaks over a tray a sausages, fingers dancing over Thomas' knuckles.

Steps echo through the hallway. Hadrian pulls his hand back slowly, retaining eye contact. Thomas smirks. His catlike pupils scream _I know what you're doing_. Which is funny - _Hadrian_ doesn't know what he's doing.

Snape appears around the corner. His sallow skin stretches into a half grimace half smile - like he's trying to hide his emotions but doesn't know which one to repress first. "My lord." He nods at Thomas. "Brat."

Thomas stands, figure seeming to grow like an overwhelming shadow in the closet. "_Severus._"

Snape snaps to attention. His posture straightens, arms whipping out of their crossed position. "Sir?"

"Say that again. To me."

Snape swallows. "Sir?"

Thomas sweeps around the table, looming over Snape.

Hadrian sighs. Springs to his feet. "Do you think he'd still be calling me that if I cared?" His attention is on Thomas. Better to make him feel important.

Thomas leans forward, lips touching Hadrian's ear. "Am I a dog you call off an attack?"

"Who here is a werewolf?"

A charcoal brow arches ever so gracefully. "Severus, mind your tongue and sit down."

The professor squares his back and does as bidden.

Hadrian and Thomas do the same. Hadrian loads up his plate with three pieces of bacon, seven potato wedges, and perfectly flattened scoop of boiled vegetables. There's an odd assortment of foods, more than half the bowls unrecognizable fancy things that Hadrian avoids like the plague.

The food must be carefully spread out, sauces equally spread, _none_ touching. Hadrian finally has it laid out how he wants when Thomas says,

"How is your meal, Severus?"

Snape's face wrinkles. He spears a rubbery looking piece of seafood. "Quite well, thank you."

Which is how Hadrian turns back to his plate and finds a singular mushroom on his potatoes. Hadrian has nothing against mushrooms, but that is not a place they should be.

Thomas' gaze attempts to pierce, launched like a harpoon. "And yours, love?"

Snape continues eating, though his eyes flicker to their conversation.

"Fucking brill." Hadrian spears the mushroom on his fork. One, two, three - swallow. There. Gone. Everything back to order.

"Not a fan?" Thomas leans his chin on his fist, his own meal untouched.

Hadrian smiles. It burns around the edges. "I answered in the affirmative."

A foot bumps against Hadrian's, not moving just resting over his own. One, two, three - Hadrian loads his fork with another bite. 37 chews. Thomas finally eats a bit of his own food.

Another set of footsteps down the hall. Regulus bows deeply and takes a seat. His dark eyes latch onto Hadrian's face.

"You look much better."

Niceties are for tea sipping gossips. "Has Hermione been informed?"

That blasted foot finally moves away. Hadrian turns his smile to Regulus.

"Indeed. If my Lord grants it, she would like to visit when you've fully recovered."

Snape's lip curls up as he watches Regulus choose his meal. Regulus locks eyes with him, holding as Thomas answers,

"If Hadrian wishes."

A smile flits across his face. "Hadrian wishes."

Snape's fork scrapes across his plate. Hadrian winces, turning to glare at him, but Snape's attention is all on Regulus.

Regulus raises the piece of sausage to his mouth, chewing it carefully, keeping eye contact with Snape.

"_Regulus._" Thomas says.

The two wizards finally break their staring contest. "Yes?"

"Either engage in intercourse or eat your food, I'd rather not the inbetween at my table."

Regulus and Severus' faces go taut. "Yes, my lord."

It takes five minutes for them to choke down their food as elegantly as possible, another for them to escape.

Which leaves Hadrian bearing Thomas' attention alone, with many more chews before the end of his meal.

"You look enchanting." Thomas savours a small piece of steak, red lips momentarily enclosed around the fork.

"Am I immortal?" 34-35-36-37-swallow.

Thomas swallows and smiles. "Yes. You and I are two of the most invulnerable on this planet. How does that make you feel?"

Is he really going to be a fucking shrink? Hadrian smiles through the anger. "But fiendfyre would work?"

"Not against a basilisk's skin. And a rooster's crow won't work on us either."

Hadrian's wind spins through everything that's supposed to kill vampires, fae, werewolves - He stands, pushing his plate away. "Nothing?" His voice is too small.

"I could you, or you could me." Thomas fingers dance around his own empty plate.

All of Hadrian's recovery techniques fail. Even breathing won't stop the incoming hyperventilation, and he can't find anything to focus on other than inky black of Thomas' eyes, the jewels of his lips. Which will remain with them, forever.

He lets himself stumble back into a wall - slide down onto the floor. "Why would you ever want this?"

"Love." Thomas kneels before him, eyes shining. "Don't you see? Your father can _never_ hurt you again. Nobody can. You're better than them all now, stronger, smarter, and more beautiful."

But Hadrian can't scrape a knife against his skin. Will he ever again be able to see the colour of his own blood? "Thanks for the pep talk."

"No need to get sarcastic." Thomas' knuckle drifts over his cheekbone.

Hadrian turns his head and closes his eyes.

"It will take some adjustment, little wolf, but you'll get there."

"What if I don't want to make adjustments?" Hadrian knows he sounds petulant, but what will Thomas say?

"You didn't _want_ to die, did you?" Thomas' voice dips dangerously low.

Hadrian swallows. His eyelashes flutter. "'Course not."

"Was it so, love? Not a matter of pride after all?" Thomas sounds like the thought has never occurred to him. It probably hasn't - _he_ wouldn't have wanted it.

The reality of the situation floods in- so like when Thomas had been Gaunt - when he cornered Hadrian at the Yuletide party. Back when Hadrian was confident.

"It doesn't matter anymore." Hadrian works to make his voice stern. "It wouldn't fucking work, anyways."

A small intake of breath. "Mental health doesn't function that way."

"Don't fucking talk to me about mental health. You're a fucking immortal ruling a country with it none the wiser."

"_Love_."

"Stop _fucking_ calling me that." Hadrian pushes himself up to his feet, and Thomas does the same, leaving them eye to eye. "It's a idiotic, fucked-up pet name."

"Really?"

Hadrian steps back, then juts his chin out. "Gonna kick me out now?"

"That's not how partnership works."

"Like you've ever fucking had any."

"Have you?" Thomas smiles, his eyes unmatching. "My mother gave everything to me until the day she died."

"She spoiled you."

"I didn't say she gave me gifts." He pronounces slowly. "She gave me an education and worked her arse off to put a roof over my head as a single mother of a disgraced family."

"Then why the fuck did you want to be immortal?"

"I won't let something as easy as death defeat me." Thomas' breath fans across Hadrian's cheek. He presses his lips against the skin. A rush of heat burns through Hadrian's body, twisting in his stomach.

"I want to visit Hermione tomorrow."

"It's a full moon." Another kiss. Hadrian gasps.

"Not in the morning. She's probably worried herself ill."

Thomas finally pulls back, and it takes everything in Hadrian to stop himself from drifting after him. It's just stupid teenage lust. _Get yourself under control._

"I'll arrange it." Thomas' hand slips across Hadrian's hip, leaving a twisted stomach on the rocks.

Hadrian's stomach twists. The sun shines orangey pink through the window, and he squints. "May I use your library?"

"Indeed, but are you not fatigued?"

"Fuck no, I slept near a month."

One side of Thomas' mouth quirks up. He holds out his elbow. "Come along then."

Hadrian curls his arm through Thomas'. It's casual and all too close simultaneously. He concentrates to match their strides, trying to memorize the twists and turns of the halls and doors.

"Here we are, love."

The smells of old paper and leather hits Hadrian in the back of the throat. He swallows, glancing up at the high glass-dome ceiling and rows upon rows of tomes.

"I don't need to ask you to treat them with care."

Hadrian turns to Thomas. His smile develops too slow, though it's his best attempt at sincerity. "Thanks."

He turns his back so fast he almost gets whiplashed. Now, which system of organization does Thomas use?

Footsteps retreat. Hadrian's breathing gets easier (you don't need to. you could suffocate yourself in a box forever -)

_The vampire is a creature rumoured to have been created in the early 900's A.D. by an errant witch's spell designed for immortality. It was a failure, as the blood required to sustain a vampire lessened their control, creating plague and losing the ability for self-discipline and life without murder -_

o0o0o0o

The ceiling of Hadrian's room is the only part untouched by runes, twisting itself into a cone above his sleepless head. The chandelier boasts twinkling even in darkness. There are too many fucking _smells_.

Hadrian squirms to his side, staring into a detailed set of protection runes. He pulls the heavy duvet over his head, only for the scent of his own body to overwhelm. The soap he used burns his nostrils, cooked meats clinging to his skin.

His stomach twists. He'd eaten plenty at supper - it should be enough. But now his attention is fixed; it pokes at a his brain like a bratty child.

Hadrian's bare feet sink into carpet. His wand flicks a tempus into the air, bright gold displaying 3:37. He'd given it his best go, in the end.

He's immortal now. Why the fuck was he trying to sleep?

The library lets itself be found. Hadrian sighs when he finally steps foot inside. He doesn't want to deal with any shit right now.

Tomorrow - today's the full moon.

The book he was reading floats in front of him. He almost jumps at his own accidental magic, trying to rub the stupidity away from his forehead.

"You're either up late or up early."

How is Thomas so fucking quiet? Hadrian shrugs a shoulder, tracing Thomas' movements. He's still dressed in the robes from yesterday.

"Am I able to sleep?"

Thomas smiles. "You should only need a couple of hours rest every now and again, but the change tired you out." He's suddenly close again.

Hadrian pulls his book closer to himself, like a shield. "What about blood?"

"You should consume some often, maybe once a week or so, but the longing won't control you. Are you hungry, love?"

Hadrian marks the page and turns to give Thomas his full attention. "I have more questions."

"Go ahead." Long fingers stroke lightly over Hadrian's thigh. He shivers. "Do you want?"

Hadrian steadies himself. Looks Thomas in the eye as he shakes his head.

"Sorry darling, I didn't mean to change the subject."

He studies Thomas' sharp features, the lack of lines or grey. "When did you transition?"

"Three years before I was elected."

"And you intended to be a full tribrid? 33% each creature?"

Thomas nods.

"That's all I wanted to know - for now." Hadrian turns back to the book.

"Would you like some parchment, love?"

Hadrian side-eyes him. "I'm fine."

"You are." Thomas finally stands, the heat of his body leaving a hole beside Hadrian. He sits at a table across the room, spreading out his own assortment of tomes and notebooks.

Hadrian grits his teeth and casts every privacy spell he knows. Lays out his stack of parchment. Fixes the edges of the books to align with their friends.

He's got the prototype down to two last ingredients. His heart thumps too loudly in his chest. It's supposed to be slow.

The equation attempts to beat him. Hadrian doesn't allow it, and Thomas is soon a blip in the side of his vision. Arithmancy is a challenge for something with this many variables.

Hadrian lets the dust scratch into his nostrils, grounding himself for the final calculation.

Blood from each. Unicorn horn. Monkswood. Moonflower picked on a blood moon. It will be expensive, but Grandfather's vault should suffice.

It will be worth it.

"Eureka?"

Hadrian jumps at Thomas' voice, blinking at him. He casts a quick time spell. It's 10 a.m. He's got time.

"I'm going to leave for the morning." Hadrian gathers his things, careful to obscure the parchment before packing it into his book bag.

Thomas smirks. "Am I allowed to ask what you're creating?"

"Not until it works." He's got a dozen tests to take before he knows if the potion will even work. He won't make the same mistake twice.

A tray of fruit, cooked meat, and bread slides onto Hadrian's table. "Your cousin will attend for a short visit at 1. I'll direct her here."

Hadrian nods. A thank you attempts to spring from his lips, but he can't quite get it out.

"You are allowed into the other rooms, love. Keep that in mind." Thomas coaxes a finger over Hadrian's hairline before turning away.

Hadrian jumps to action as soon as the door shuts. He's only got so much time before the moon rises.

His trunk appears at his feet. A brush of fingers against solid green cedar. Hadrian whispers the passcodes, setting up wards to keep it out of sight and mind.

He steps down into his room. It's musty and darker, dust clinging to his skin. His fingers snap. A potions station appears - rudimentary compared to Snape's, but he can make do.

Hadrian catalogues the ingredients he has and makes a list.

o0o0o0o

Every step through Knockturn alley is a pounding through Hadrian's brain. Hundreds of different scents assault his senses, creatures and ingredients, spells and potions all trying to be number 1.

He steels himself, pulling back his shoulders as he enters a shop shrouded in shadows. Magic flushes over his body as he steps over the threshold.

"Can I help you?" A waxen figure steps out from behind a bookshelf, his eyes cherry red (Thomas' are much darker, like true blood).

"I need a drop of your blood."

The pale white features harden, blood-red eyes flickering across Hadrian's face. "What are you offering in exchange, little one?"

Hadrian smiles, small and dark in the way he knows makes him look mysterious. "I've not much but gold, ancient Herr. What do you wish for?"

The vampire smiles back, eyes sharper. "Your blood for mine."

Thomas will throw a fit, but Hadrian has to fix it somehow. He can't risk the full moon.

"I've been told nothing can pierce my skin but my own teeth, but you may try." Hadrian steps forward and cocks his head to the side.

The vampire disappears.

A hand gently encloses his hip, before pulling Hadrian back against him. He smells of violets and iron. The cold tip of a nose sweeps along Hadrian's jugular.

Hadrian grants further access. The situation screams of Thomas, but without the colours and tastes.

Teeth press against skin, teasing. A hard rod presses into Hadrian's arse.

"The deal is a _blood_ exchange - not semen."

A chuckle vibrates into Hadrian's throat. "So tempting, young one."

Two prongs burn into his skin. Hadrian clenches his fists and stiffens his body. He can take it, even if it feels like blades and boils his brain from the mind game of blocked breaths. He steadies himself.

The vampire finally pulls away. Wipes a string of clotted blood from Hadrian throat and sucks it into his mouth. "Only ones destined for as long as you can get through." He taps the previously broken spot for emphasis.

Hadrian frowns, staring the vampire's features with much more effort than before. "You have to be the First."

"Indeed I am." When he smiles he doesn't look anywhere near middle-aged, though his eyes are too dark and hollow to be from this century. "I'd prefer you call me Al, and I wish you luck with your quest."

Hadrian nods. Conjures a vial and hands it over.

Al bites into his own wrist, the cracking sound echoing through the tomb-like room. He squeezes thick red liquid into the vial. Caps it and hands it over. "You understand that this isn't a coincidence, yes?"

"A deal's a deal." Hadrian says coldly. If this vampire fucking tries anything - no matter how old he is.

"Indeed." Al steps forward, fingers raising.

Hadrian catches the hand before it can touch him.

"If you ever get tired of that Minister of yours, we could live out eternity together. No strings."

"Thanks but no thanks." Hadrian surprises himself at his answer.

He apparates back to the manor. The hallways are a fucking maze - Hadrian stumbles up a stairway that maybe leads to his room? Instead he finds a parlour with one Thomas Gaunt inside.

"You reek of a vampire." Thomas takes one step and seems to clear the entire floor, looming over him. He slides a finger down Hadrian's neck. "and only the First could penetrate you."

Hadrian's nostrils flare, and he steps away. "You told me _no one_ but you could. I've got 10 minutes to be ready for Hermione's visit. We can _discuss_ this later."

Thomas smiles with too much teeth. "The bond won't let you engage in intercourse with anyone but me."

"I understand." Hadrian grits out, stepping around Thomas and speed-walking away.

But Thomas appears in front of him. His hands clasp around Hadrian's wrists, raising the werewolf's arms and slamming his body against the wall. Thomas' nose presses into his neck. "Tell me to stop whenever you want, love."

Hadrian stifles a moan. The grip around his wrists tightens, and his boner presses painfully against trousers. Clouds buzz through his brain. He wants to try to fall. See if Thomas will catch him.

"Have you ever seen a Muggle traffic light?"

Hadrian sucks in a breath, which only furthers the intoxication of Thomas' scent. "Y-es."

"Tell me how this feels."

Hadrian blinks, trying to process the words. His hips bang forward. Ache for release. "Green."

"Use it if you want me to stop, love." And then Thomas _bites_.

A sound leaps from Hadrian's mouth, high and breathy, fucking girly as shit. But Thomas places another bite under the second, body boxing Hadrian in.

Hadrian shakes with it. Heat waves over his body, pooling in his groin. "Uh."

"Colour?" Thomas presses soft kisses over the rapidly healing wound.

Hadrian's hips meet Thomas', but Thomas steps back, hands still holding Hadrian captive.

Hadrian blinks. Time stretches out through Thomas' dark eyes. He doesn't want him, not really. Just another toy to throw away when it gets boring. Hadrian takes a steadying breath. "Red."

He nearly collapses at the sudden release of his wrists. Thomas smiles without humour. "Go meet your friend, darling."

Thomas disappears around the corner. Hadrian tries to make his steps even, his head stuffed full of cotton balls. Why the fuck did he let him do that?

Hadrian shakes his head, trying to active his brain. He casts a point-me. Hermione has arrived already, and he follows his wand to another parlour that looks about the same as the first.

o0o0o0o

"Oh Hadrian." Hermione exclaims. Her hands cup his face, thumbs sweeping down his cheekbones. "You were handsome before, but you could seriously consider modelling now, cousin."

"Thanks." Hadrian steps away, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Her forehead wrinkles. "Has he been treating you right? Dad's reports have been monosyllabic at best."

He shrugs.

Hermione gently grabs his hand and extricates it from his pocket. Pulls him over to sit on the loveseat with her. Her arms encircle his neck, and he leans forward until he's almost in her lap.

"_Hermione_." The neutral tone has disappeared from his voice.

"You can tell me all about it, or we can sit here like this for however long you want. Your choice." Her hand soothes down his back.

Hadrian sighs. Casts a strong muffliato with a wave of his hand. "I'm immortal now, Herm."

"Explain what that means to you." She asks gently.

"So far I know of two things that can penetrate my skin, a one thousand-year-old vampire, and Thomas."

Hermione pulls back, eyes slipping over his face. "I guess this means I'll always be in with 'the youth' doesn't it?"

"_We're_ youths, and we're not in with them."

She chuckles. "On a change of subject: you don't feel the crazy desire to stick your fangs in my neck, yes?"

Hadrian swallows, his throat going dry. He prods his canines with his pointer finger. "No?"

"I've never seen you so uncertain before."

Fuck this. Hadrian leaps off the couch, Hermione curling up Turkish style to watch him.

"It's the full moon tonight, Hads. Do you know what's gonna happen?"

"He'll want to run with me again." Hadrian can't stop the jostled pacing, his feet finding every third and seventh marble floor tile.

"How do you feel about that?"

"You're supposed to be my friend, not my fucking shrink."

Hermione pulls her back straighter, cocking her head to the side. "You can leave whenever you want, yes?"

Hadrian forces himself to sit back down, this time across from her. He _can_ leave whenever he wants. Thomas can't make him do anything. "I keep staying."

"So tell me why. Maybe it will help."

He swallows and looks away. "He wants to fuck me, but he's gonna throw me away as soon as it gets boring." They're bonded for life - maybe he won't - or maybe that will make it all too much easier to be hurt over and over again until the sun boils the earth.

Hermione approaches slowly and slips her hands into his. Her eyes blaze, warm and comforting. "Are you coming back to Hogwarts?"

"You think I need the distance?"

"I think it will help you figure out where you stand. You need a reason to stay, Hads, beyond that you want to sleep with him."

Hadrian squirms. "He thinks I could take my NEWTS as an infernus."

Hermione lets out a sudden chuckle. "And you've got him wrapped around your finger already. Come back and think it through; at most it will take you a week to catch up, you fucking smartass."

It's a grounding thought, being back at the place where he's had the most control, where people pay the least amount of attention, although his extended absence might negate that for a while. It would be nice to worry only about twenty-minute essays and casting spells too well.

He cracks a smile. "I'll come back for the Monday."

"Four days." She points a finger, squishing into his seat beside him. "Now tell me more about your abilities."

A long black mamba chooses this moment to slither into the room, yellow eyes glowing and fixed on the two frozen wizards.

"You are Tom-Tom's mate." She slithers closer, raising her head to be level with his. Her hood flares.

Hadrian swallows. "Nagini?"

"You will let Tom-Tom care for you like good egg-carrier or I will swallow you and Tom-Tom will be sad."

"You're understanding it?" Hermione whispers from the corner of her mouth.

Hadrian gives a small nod to her. "Nagini, I can't carry eggs." Which is not the biggest issue with her statement, but the others are hard to breach.

Her tongue vibrates in the air. Thomas' snake tongue touched Hadrian's mouth once, so long ago.

"Stupid wolfie will listen to Nagini!" She looms over him.

Hadrian raises his chin. "Thomas doesn't _want_ me as an egg-carrier."

If snakes can laugh, that's the sound they would make. "Tom-Tom made nest for bondmate. Tom-Tom has never done before."

"Okay." Hadrian is hissing. Has he been doing this the whole time?

"Remember, Nagini will eat you."

"I understand." As much as Hadrian wants to swear out the ten foot long snake, he does have some self-preservation, though Nagini won't be able to kill him. Maybe? Immortality is confusing.

She nods, slithering to a big flat rock in the corner. "Make it warm."

Hadrian chuckles. If she wasn't a snake he'd be out for blood. He casts the spell and can finally turn back to Hermione.

She's got her science-look on, forehead wrinkled, eyes squinted as she looks between them. "You look happier."

His humour disappears.

"You remember when Sirius and Regulus adopted me? After Minister Gaunt passed the Muggleborn Act?"

Lily had cried for days, moaning about the poor children being taken away from their families - but it was only the abusive families whose wizard children were blood adopted into into the system, the rest were simply watched by the Department of Muggle Children.

"James loves to rant about how irresponsible it was of Sirius to adopt a child." Hadrian raises his eyebrow.

She barks a laugh. "Fucking abusive shit. You remind me of that middle stage, where I thought maybe I was finally getting a family, getting to use magic, but I also had no clue if it was gonna last."

"It took you years to build up your arrogant confidence." He smirks.

Hermione slaps his arm. "I'm not trying to give you a stupid pep talk so you'll fall into the Minister's arms, you brat, but you've got that bond and couple of months to sort through all this shit."

"Fuck." Hadrian shivers. "Hermione -"

"You never need to feel like you gotta stay here, you got it?"

He scoffs.

Her nail digs into his chest. "Got it?"

"Yes, _cousin_."

"Good."

The pause hollows out like a sustained bass note, Hadrian blinks. His eyes seem to zoom in on her features - the freckles dusted across her nose, the way her brown curls poof out every which way. Her heart beat slams through his brain, suddenly loud enough to make a partier deaf.

Her pulse swells to the beat. Hadrian licks his lips, the scent of cherries, magic, and ginger all he can taste.

"Hadrian?"

He wants that voice to be what brings him back, but the scent snakes down his throat, burning and branding. His chest leaps, trying to force him forward. Trying to force his teeth into her neck.

Small hands curl around his shoulders. Hadrian blinks into Hermione's eyes, which seem all too warm and chocolatey.

"Fuck." He swallows. Forces himself away from her blood to pace in the corner.

"Is that the first time you've felt bloodlust?" Her voice is so _fucking_ gentle. Like she fucking _understands_.

He shakes his head once, tugging at his hair. Control comes back in waves, but the taste aches in his throat. What would happen if he stuck his nose there, right at her pulse? Just once. Just to smell everything _once_.

"Do you want me to get Gaunt?"

That name floods Hadrian with concern - it's not his.

The door slams open. Thomas stalks in, Nagini slithering behind (did he not notice when she left?).

His steps quicken towards Hadrian, whose feet seem glued to the floor.

"Are you alright, love?" Thomas hands cup Hadrian's cheeks, thumbs steering his head a gentle left and right.

Hadrian swallows. "I'm fine." His guts twist into a tight knot.

"He experienced intense bloodlust for a moment, but I was able to snap him out of it."

Hadrian glares at Hermione, though she only sends a level-headed stare in return. She may be intelligent and collected, but she's also a fucking tattletale when she thinks he's in danger.

"Alright." Thomas thumbs sweep under Hadrian's eyes. It would be so easy to shut them and lean forward. "Ms. Black, I think your visit has come to a close. Perhaps when Hadrian is fully recovered we can schedule another."

Hermione tries to communicate something with her facial expressions. Hadrian brain is mostly fried from the heat in his the throat and the overwhelming emotions in his chest. He manages a small nod.

It seems to be the right answer. She leaves.

Thomas guides Hadrian to the loveseat, thumbs sliding down his neck. "I was waiting to see how your bloodlust would manifest."

"The fae was supposed to negate it."

"And it did, otherwise every humanoid in this manor would be dead. You were fantastic, love."

"I'm not -" Hadrian sighs. He can't find the words with Thomas' thumbs sliding along his shoulders, pushing hard to massage out the knots. It's a good sort of pain.

Thomas takes his hands away, and Hadrian tries to shake himself back into intelligence. Blue orbs burn into him.

Hadrian squirms, the memory unfaded of Thomas holding his wrists above his head. The bites that healed on his neck. He wishes they hadn't.

A knock sounds at the door.

Thomas smiles. "Enter."

A servant enters, a well-dressed Muggle with a no-nonsense expression. He holds out a silver platter to Thomas, a decanter of blood and two cups balanced perfectly.

Meaty iron burns through Hadrian's throat. He twitches, barely keeping himself stationary.

Thomas nods at the servant and takes the platter, laying it down on the shining mahogany coffee table. He pours the two glasses ¾ full.

He's ever so calm raising his own glass to his lips, the deep red disappearing down his throat. Hadrian swallows down a frenzy.

"Whenever you're ready, love."

Hadrian sighs through his nose. The glass is cold, fogging from the heat of his mouth (why is he hot? shouldn't he be dead?).

The first taste of blood could only be comparable to heroin, though Hadrian's never tasted it. He shakes from it, trying not to spill in his efforts to get it all down his throat. The empty cup slams against the table.

Hadrian leans back in the couch and closes his eyes. Deep, easy breaths (they're not easy, he sounds like a fucking tank engine).

Breath fans over his cheek, and he freezes. Light slams back into his eyes, Thomas an inch away from his lips on Hadrian's cheek.

Thomas leans forward. Hadrian thought he was getting accustomed to the feeling of their skin against each other, but this touch explodes in his chest, hardening his dick and labouring his breaths further.

Hadrian falls into the armrest as Thomas stands. "You can use the forest tonight."

"Thank you." Hadrian grits out.

Thomas smirks. "I'll have the house elves bring dinner outside your door."

He leaves Hadrian with a twisted stomach and a frustrated cock, and he seems to know it. Hadrian presses his hand down to stifle the ache. Recalls James' stupid face.

It's time to go back to work.

o0o0o0o

**IMPORTANT NOTE: I got the tribrid idea for Thomas from Epic Solemnity's **_**Death of Today**_**. Their Tomarry fic is one of the best I ever read (it's over on FF). My plot is completely different, but this story is definitely inspired by theirs.**

**There you go, ArmieHux:) Some background on Hermione. I meant to slip it in somewhere before but just never got around to it. **

**I really do read your comments! (I'm just so socially awkward I can never think of a response). It means so much when you take the time to ask questions, give CC, or simply leave a kind word:)**

**AND - apparently pickled peaches are actually a thing. Just pretend that they tried to stick a peach in brine and that it's gross, k? Just for my one metaphor?...**

**Y'all are so so sweet! I was not expecting all of the condolences and well wishes:) Sure is a lovely community over here. Definitely was inspired to write away my problems!**

**Reviews will be treasured up like the last spoonful of Nutella!**


	14. A Meeting with the Gods

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 14 - _A Meeting with the Gods_

Hadrian's appropriated trunk does not make the best potions lab, but he does his best: transfiguring equipment and running through the steps in his mind. He needs to get this right.

He'll have to infuse the Monkswood into water with a PH balance of 0. His hands are steady as he starts the process.

It's a blur of careful pressure. Occasionally Hadrian begins overthinking, heart attempting to stomp out of his chest, but he always manages to find his scientific wizard once more.

He has to add the blood of each creature one at a time, stirring counterclockwise six times a minute.

The finished potion smells of pickled herrings and nutmeg. It screams its way down his tongue. Hadrian jerks as the magic punches through his bones.

It will work. It will work.

_He believes in fairies._ Hadrian barks a laugh at his own crazy thoughts, burrowing into the soft duvet on his cot.

The potion's aftershocks fade quickly. All Hadrian has left to do is stare down the clock. One hour until sundown.

He can hold his breath all he wants. He needs to get outside.

Hadrian tugs his cloak tight around his body, feet noiseless and bare. It's risky to be naked, but he's immortal now, and it won't matter when the werewolf takes over.

Gaia tugs at his body, subtle and dancing. The moon is half an hour away from its peak. Hadrian inhales. White light seeps through the horizon, spilling into the dark blue sky - soon.

Thomas' courtyard is perfectly cared for, magical trees humming as Hadrian passes. Fountains gurgle. Water shrines surround the house like a compass, one at each direction, their stones covered in dozens of protection runes for the grounds and inhabitants.

Hadrian's feet sink into wet grass. He meets the underbrush, a wild forest wall completely separated from the inch long grass and pruned flowers.

Magic hisses from the forest. A pixie hums not far away. Hadrian pushes forward. Before the branches would scratch into his skin. Now it tickles.

He finds a small area without trees, spelling his cloak and wand in the roots of a cedar.

Gaia pulls harder. Hadrian sinks to his knees. The cold spring air nips at his naked body, but he can't shiver anymore. The scent of earth grounds him. It's the same as all the times before. He did it.

The potion worked. It will or -

Growls bubble through the wolf's throat with all the control of a boiling kettle. He sprints forward.

He has to claim, mark, and make his mate submit. They are his. He is theirs. The moon guides him like he's a marionette. It's okay. Gaia and Lune work together to bring him to _them_.

His nails click against marble floors, servants ducking out of the way. The growls haven't stopped. He won't be swayed for his goal.

His Gefährte.

Their scent seeps from the room, an easy trail for his nose to follow. The wolf hurls himself at the locked door. Once. Twice. And the door breaks; splinters ricochet through the room.

The wolf pauses, hackles raised. Splinters won't hurt Gefährte. There are two other wizards, pointing their wands with the slightest shake in his direction.

He lets the growls ripple from his throat.

"You can leave." His Gefährte says.

"But sir -"

A glance from Gefährte is all it takes for them to scramble away.

Gaia pulls the wolf forward. He lets out a whimper. Everything is saturated in Gefährte. If he doesn't obey the moon -

Gefährte is on their knees, head level with the wolf's. Their fingers slide behind the wolf's ear. "What do you need, love?"

He moves forward, carefully pressing his snout into Gefährte's neck. He exhales. Bites down, deep and permanent into skin and muscle. It allows him in without protest.

Gefährte's hand strokes down his back. All the energy needed for Gefährte peeters out. Wolf licks the wound, butting it with his nose.

His eyes droop. The room is comfy and warm.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian blinks awake. The marble floor is cold against his naked body, hands shaking as he pushes himself upwards.

Thomas is asleep on a couch barely a metre away. He looks softened, a wayward curl twisted over his forehead, his chest rising and falling in even breaths.

There's blood around the right side of his neck, flaking on his collar. Hadrian's fingers brush across the crescent bite mark.

A hand imprisons his wrist. Hadrian swallows.

Blue eyes burn into his. "Quite the night, wasn't it love?"

"I don't remember."

"While I was in a meeting you burst into this room and clamped your teeth into my neck."

Hadrian grits his teeth. "I couldn't control it."

Thomas pulls Hadrian forward, onto his lap. Long warm fingers curl around Hadrian's hips. He's completely naked. There's nowhere to hide his erection (_pretend you don't care_).

"You know what it means, don't you love?"

Hadrian grimaces, but lets himself rest his forehead against Thomas' chest. He closes his eyes to shut out the bright blue. He's still so _tired_. "My wolf mated you."

The connection between them thrums with heat. "And when you let me, I'll bite you back."

Hadrian shivers, fingering the buttons of Thomas' business attire. "I'm going back to Hogwarts on Monday."

The silence stretches out like taffy. "If that's what you wish."

Fingers dance over Hadrian's stomach. He _whines_. Thomas' thumb brushes over his hip bone. His hips jerks forward, dick skating along Thomas' robes. The bit of friction is maddening.

Thomas fingers leave Hadrian's stomach, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look him in the eye once again. "You're beautiful, love, but I'm not sure you've given consent yet."

"You didn't care about consent when my hands were pinned against the wall."

"No." Thomas says slowly. His breath dances over Hadrian's face, wafting the smell of last night's blood. "It was a test, and your mind answered yes." He taps Hadrian's temple.

Hadrian squirms, trying to press closer. Last night still heats his spine. Gaia's remaining force tugs underneath his skin; he wants to break his teeth through the scar and make it bleed again. He wants to fuck and be fucked.

Thomas' arms curve around Hadrian's waist, and for one blissful second he thinks he'll get release. Thomas plants Hadrian onto the ground, hands skimming his hips before letting him go. "You're intoxicated."

Hadrian's skin goes molten hot. "Touch me again."

"Love, remember where you are."

"I'm with Gefährte."

"You're with Minister Gaunt." Thomas' voice is powerful.

Hadrian blinks, the name bringing back a set of memories previously covered in lust fog for his mate. His mate. _Fuck_. Even his mind is betraying him now.

Hadrian swallows. Slips off Thomas' lap. "Accio Hadrian's wand." He has to put extra magic to open the doors between him and it, but his wand slaps into his hand within a minute of Thomas' gaze. _Good dog. _

He grits his teeth, transfiguring a throw pillow into a plain black robe. It doesn't look quite right, but it will do for now.

"I'll be in the office down the hall when you're ready to discuss this." Thomas says finally, his smirk twitching on beautiful lips.

Hadrian wants to scream at him, just a couple of sentences, about how he's perfectly able discuss it _now. _But he shouldn't, so he _doesn't_. His brain is still fuzzed at the edges. Thomas' hair looks so handsome mussed with sleep.

He speedwalks to his room and changes into real robes. Runs into the woods to retrieve his invisibility cloak, each step weighted, his brain bursting with fog.

The library echoes at his entrance. He spreads out various tomes on magical creatures and prepares to study.

Heat strikes. Hadrian writhes and falls to the carpet. It's perfect to dig his claws into, red and soft. Thomas' arousal seems tenfold more than Hadrian's, and he can't manage to suck in a decent breath.

He crawls into a corner between two bookshelves. Barricades himself in with a chair, mouth open wide and body convulsing. Thomas is touching himself - he has to be, those graceful fingers sliding down a perfect dick. Phantom sensations spill through the bond.

An orgasm slams through him. The tingling punches down his spine. Hadrian groans helplessly and lets it overtake. He presses his palm against his dick, but all it does is electrify the sensations.

His toes curl into the carpet, fangs piercing his lower lip at the onslaught.

The aftershocks spill through in twitches. Hadrian bangs his head against the bookshelf. It's dark and cozy in this corner, and he's still so tired.

His fangs slip back to where they belong. Nails shorten. Heartbeat slows. It smells of parchment, ink, and _Thomas._ He leans his head against the wall and lets sleep tug him down.

o0o0o0o

"I want to attend one of your meetings."

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Please state your reasoning." He leans back against a high-backed deep red chair, elbows on the desk and fingers steepled together. He's fucking _poised_.

"I thought you'd be _delighted. _Don't you want to show off your little possession?"

"Love, we both know you'd never acquiesce to such a situation. If you're simply curious as to how I do things, that's fine."

"I don't need to be placated." Hadrian whispers, then mentally kicks himself. He always sounds needy and small.

Thomas' smile is slow and blooming. "I don't have many meetings with all my pledged, but you're in luck. There's a major hearing this Sunday."

He manages a nod. Sunday. Plenty enough time to pack up his things and avoid Thomas like the plague.

A burning kiss singes his forehead. Hadrian blinks. How did he not notice Thomas' approach?

"Are we going to discuss the bite?" Thomas' fingers trace where one would be on Hadrian's neck.

His heart pounds through the explosive colours. "It was the wolf."

"Interesting that only now you try to convince me that you and the wolf are separate entities."

Hadrian knows he sounds stupid. He is the wolf, the vampire, the basilisk, the fae, the _wizard. _

"You've been running from your feeling since I met you, love. Do you think it's about time to let it go?"

"I'm not _running from my feelings_," Hadrian hisses. "I've been trying for the last three months to untie the Fates' sense of humour."

"Why would you want to? We're perfect for each other." Thomas steps forward.

Hadrian refuses to let himself be backed against a wall once again. He squares his shoulders. "Why would you, the leader of fucking Britain, ever believe that a seventeen-year-old ill-adjusted werewolf could be his match?"

"For someone so smart you can be extraordinarily _stupid_. You're the smartest, strongest, most beautiful that's passed through Hogwarts since myself, and you performed a ritual that should've killed you and instead bonded you to me, because we were _meant_ for each other." Thomas voice hushes, his words low and fast. "I've been looking for years for someone worthy of eternity with me, and you surpassed my expectations by a mile sprint."

"I don't want you."

"Your words don't match your feelings, _love. _Don't lie to me."

"I've had this plan my entire life. 'Get out and invent something great.' Hole up with only magical science to answer to. It's been my _dream_."

"And why in the hell do you think I won't build you a 10 story lab with every grant the government could give you?"

Hadrian stares, stuck in Thomas' fervent gaze and the not-so-subtle twitching of those lovely fingers. He fucking means it.

He sighs. "I'm going to go study. I'm not fucking running away. I'm making a decision after the meeting Sunday."

"Will you?"

"_Yes_," Hadrian growls. Thomas' eyes sparkle. Another stupid test.

"You look lovely when you're all fired up."

Hadrian doesn't dignify that with an answer, stomping out the door.

o0o0o0o

"We're still serious."

Hadrian looks up from his book. "You and Severus make a lovely couple."

"Sirius and I are still serious about you taking our name." Regulus pulls a chair up to the desk.

"Good for you, my answer remains as _fuck off._"

"Hermione is already like your sister. This would just make it official."

"We finished this conversation at the party. I don't fucking need or want your name." Hadrian inhales deeply, trying to push down the ache in his gums, the beat of Regulus' heart so loud in his ears.

"Alright. Sirius just wanted me to ask one more time. I'll leave you alone." Regulus turns.

"You know that Gaunt and I are bonded, right?"

Regulus turns back, one side of his mouth hooking upwards. "Isn't it Thomas?"

"Fine. Fuck off."

"You think you'll take his name soon?"

"Not ever," Hadrian says too vehemently. He has to fight the urge to squirm. "Thank you for teaching me how to duel."

"What have you done with Hadrian Evans?"

"Apparently froze him for eternity." Hadrian lets his smile out, hollow and dark. "Bye."

"You don't really want me to leave."

Hadrian raises his eyebrows. "Do you and Snape get kinky in the bedroom?"

"Funny, you think you're joking."

Hadrian humours leeches away.

"You don't have to say anything, but I think you're discovering a couple of kinks, aren't you? Thomas is your first partner, and you think taking a submissive role makes you weak."

"How the fuck do you know -"

"But it doesn't. Hadrian, you're not stupid. It takes strength to submit, and it takes strength for Thomas to play you right. Just make sure and have a proper negotiation, yeah?"

"I feel like you just gave me the sex talk."

"Sorta 'cause I did." Regulus smiles with all his teeth. "Good luck, Hads."

"Only Hermione can call me that."

"Maybe see you at dinner tonight, lad." Regulus swaggers out of the room, leaving Hadrian with more tension in his shoulders and less in his stomach.

What the fuck?

o0o0o0o

Hadrian steps into the meeting with a clear-cut expectations. He expects the ballroom of chandeliers, the waxed marble floors, and a throne. What he didn't imagine are the chairs.

Six straight-backed silver chairs surround the throne in a half circle, open to the rest of the room, where hundreds of green pillows are lined up in perfect rows.

Hadrian straightens his posture, hands swinging at his sides. Thomas' lips upturn. A strong hand slips onto the small of Hadrian's back.

Regulus and Severus stand at the chairs at the throne's right and left.

"You'll stand behind me." Thomas' hands burn at Hadrian's hips, steering him behind the throne of shiny wood and polished jewels.

_Behind_ him. Like he's less than. _Or_ like Thomas wants to protect him. Hadrian shivers in his own skin. An itch screams in his throat.

Thomas sits, and his two pledged do also. "Arm."

Severus' mark drifts forward. Thomas presses his wand to the snake. Within seconds pops echo through the chamber. Four cloaked figures swagger forward.

They bow and seat themselves in the silver chairs.

The pops shriek through the room, and cloaked wizards mob the room. There are so fucking _many_, all even swaggers and perfect posture. Proud people who immediately kneel when they find their spot.

Hadrian straightens his back, meeting any eye contact full on. The emerald robe Thomas gave him falls around his face, concealing his forehead and hair. The pledged are locked by a secrecy spell as soon as they are marked by Thomas, he'd said.

Hadrian doesn't say how much he respects the forethought.

But now it's like he a fucking Victoria Secret model, all eyes on arse, breasts, and thighs. The wizards and witches all wear masks: copper, nickel, and gold. Copper seat themselves at the back, the richer the mineral the closer to the front. The gold are most confident, their eyes sticking longer.

And Hadrian won't back down, yet he's relieved when Thomas stands, and the room quiets.

He doesn't expect the deepness of Thomas' voice thrumming through the room, licking at the walls. The followers' eyes instantly fix on their lord, though Hadrian is not forgotten.

"An issue has been brought forward of the most pressing matter." Backs straighten. Thomas smiles. "Peter Pettigrew, please come here."

A stout man stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping in his attempt to reach the pedestal as fast as possible. He bows so low his nose touches the ground. "My lord."

"Stand."

Peter hurries to do so.

"Hadrian, love, do you remember this man?"

Hadrian swallows and tries to command his cheeks not to heat. Hundreds of eyes burn into him. "He's come for dinner with my father before."

"Would you say that Peter is good friends with your father, James Potter?"

The gazes sharpen in force.

Hadrian grits his teeth. "Good as he's ever had since Hogwarts."

"Maybe that would explain why he betrayed me."

The room stills. The eyes turn to watch Peter stutter. "My lord, I would never -"

"Silence."

Peter's colour leeches away like water from a squeezed sponge.

"There was an entire dozen of dirty aurors under your watch. Try to tell me again that you didn't know, and your death will be infinitely more painful."

Peter swallows. Hadrian fights back a smile. _Idiot_.

"My friends, had Peter's betrayal not endangered our cause, endangered our fair way of life, he would simply be banished, as you have all seen. But innocent citizens were abused for being born to the dark side of magic. This is _justice_."

Peter Pettigrew sinks to his knees without prompting, greasy hair tangling over his beady eyes. "My lord -"

Thomas lifts a hand and Peter's teeth snap together. His thumb rubs along the delicate bones of Hadrian's wrist. "Have you ever cast an imperio, love?"

"No." _Marking him like he's a fucking possession._ Hadrian tries to lick the taste of pear out of his mouth.

"Why don't you ask our dear Peter why he became a traitor to the cause?"

Hadrian nods tightly. Did Thomas plan this all along? To use Hadrian to make an example? Is this a test?

His wand slaps into his hand. Peter's taut features loosen at the spell. The dark magic floods Hadrian's body like a fire licking at a piece of meat (_maybe Thomas just knew how much he would enjoy it_). He shivers and holds it still. "Why didn't you report the dirty aurors to Lord Gaunt?"

Blank eyes turn to him. "James said he'd let me fuck Lily."

Hadrian breathes deeply, curving his lips into a smile. "And you believed him?"

"She's always been beautiful." That stupid voice is dreadfully monotone. What Hadrian would give to make it quake in fear.

He releases the imperio and raises an eyebrow at Thomas.

"If any of you ever wished to leave the country or my ranks, you would see that such wishes have been granted, provided the proper contract be signed. My pledged, if anyone wishes such a thing, you may contact me through various ways." Thomas steps forward, wand twirling through his fingers.

"But Peter didn't ask, did he? He let dark witches and wizards be treated unfairly by our legal system. Does anyone disagree with the horrendous nature of his actions?"

All heads give short shakes.

"Peter, my traitor. Do you have anything you want to say?"

The smell of urine fills the room. A rat appears in Peters place and attempts to scurry to the left, the pee puddle left to stand.

The rat hovers in midair, caught by an airy flick of Thomas' wand. "Only cowards run from justice." His voice vibrates and fills with all the intention of expertly played bagpipes.

"Homnio revelio."

Peter appears once again, crying. Hadrian lets his smile flourish.

"_Crucio_."

Fists beat against stone floor, body writhing. Thomas' face stay placid for the minute of torture. Then he's merciful. A beam of deep green slams into the drooling vegetable.

Peter slumps down, eyes scrubbed of life.

Thomas scourgifies the urine and turns to his followers. "Leave or stay, but hurt the innocent citizens of our fair country and this too will be your fate." He's impossibly regal, and no one dares look away.

"Now, does anyone have information that _should_ be brought forward?" Thomas smiles without humour. "Lucius?"

Platinum blond hair spills out of a gold mask. Blue orbs harden into ice. Lucius Malfoy steps forward, bowing where Peter pissed minutes ago. "My lord?"

"You seemed very close with James Potter at the gala. Why don't you tell me why?"

"He's influential in the resistance, my lord."

Thomas steps forward, green robes trailing behind him. "Stand."

Lucius does so gracefully. Thomas thumb and pointer finger grasp around Lucius' chin, making him meet his eyes.

Ice eyes fog up like a mirror after a long hot shower. Legilimency. Hadrian doesn't envy that - but Thomas shouldn't touch him. He's a sycophant, a fucking idiot.

"Return to your seat." Thomas' voice is quiet, though it reaches every corner of the room. "Everyone but the inner circle may leave."

The wizards in the silver chairs gracefully stand, directing their seats in a tight circle around Thomas. They've done this many times before. Hundreds of robes rustle, overwhelming Hadrian's ears. Each wizard and witch leaves their own unique scent on their pillow.

He swallows and straightens his back once more.

"My trusted, this is Hadrian Evans. He's to be treated how you would me." Sharp eyes turn to Hadrian, chins giving sharp-single nods, before the gazes snap back to the leader. "Alexandra, news of the resistance?"

The dark-haired woman smiles with slightly too much teeth. "Some redheads have recently started a business that's infecting like a siren's song. Their work is incredibly ingenious."

A charcoal brow raises. "Someone will need to vet them."

"Fred and George hate the resistance. They left home in their seventh year." Hadrian tries to keep his features placid under the onslaught of nine pairs of eyes.

Warm fingers curl around his wrist, stroking the delicate inside. "There will be no chains and knives interrogation, love. I'll merely offer them a place within my court."

"And if they say no?"

"After ascertaining that their loyalties are not to the resistance, they are free to do whatever they choose."

Hadrian wipes his features. It's unwise to challenge Thomas in front of his followers. Those blue eyes sharpen, thumb rubbing Hadrian's pulse point. He tries to repress the arousal twisting in his lower belly.

"Is there any other news to be brought forward?" Thomas doesn't take his gaze off of Hadrian.

Silence prevails.

Thomas finally turns away, instead tugging Hadrian down to sit beside him, almost on his knee. "Do you believe the trial was perceived positively?"

"The majority agreed with your methods." A man with seaweed hair and pointed teeth leans back in his chair, attention rapt on Hadrian. "You bonded with a rebel child?"

Thomas smirks. His eyes glitter and Hadrian shivers through a wave of jealousy. That should be aimed at him.

"Apparently not all my relatives are idiots." Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes are dark and deep, wild curls escaping an elaborate crown braided around her head. "The Black certainly came out in him."

"If the conversation has dissolved into discussing my lover in front of him, you may leave."

The kelpie man and Alexandra saunter to the apparition room, but not without looking incredibly amused by the whole thing. Regulus and Severus have turned their attention to each other, their knees almost touching as they whisper.

Bellatrix tucks a strand of wavy blond behind a Veela's ear. They make a gorgeous Dark couple. She stands and drags the Veela with her.

"Little cousin, this is Marigold."

Hadrian smirks. Takes her outstretched hand and kisses lightly above her knuckles. He does the same to Bellatrix. "It's a pleasure to meet two lovely witches from the intelligent side of the family."

Marigold's eyes are large and golden, slipping down Hadrian's form with all the observation of a honed spy. Her allure bursts forth, and Hadrian stifles a twitch.

"Please put that away."

Bellatrix and Thomas stop their discussion, turning to him.

"Are the rumours false then?"

"I'm fucking gay as a rainbow." Hadrian lifts his chin. He doesn't have to explain to her what it means. "But keep your fucking sex fumes between you and your partner."

Marigold nods curtly. The air lightens.

Bellatrix smiles, though her eyes are slightly too serious. "Where have you been hiding him, my lord?"

A warm hand spans the small of Hadrian's back. "He's entirely too headstrong to be hidden, though he'll graduate from Hogwarts this summer."

"Hmm." A long nail taps her chin. Hadrian's mental hackles raise at her stare. "Nothing to do with my cousin's dead boyfriend, right?"

Hadrian laughs loud enough to turn heads. Thomas' hand tightens around his elbow. What does he think Hadrian is going to do, hit her?

"That story's old and dead, crazy Black. Are you gonna bring up my daddy issues next to see what I'll do?"

"You beat me to it."

Hadrian smiles. Lets his fangs out and in with careful control. "Insult me and you insult your lord."

"As lovely as it is to watch you cat fight, love, Bellatrix should know well enough to mind her manners without your reminding." Thomas pulls him away from the women, giving a nod to Severus and Regulus. "I'm sure you all can find your way out."

Hadrian lets himself be led across the chamber. Thomas shuts the door to a parlour, backing Hadrian into it. The violence of the action is gone, replaced with a gentleness in Thomas' fingers sliding down Hadrian's temple.

"You have a soft spot for your mother," Thomas says into Hadrian's neck.

"I'm more attached to Hermione than her."

"But you would kill an unknown innocent for _Lily_, wouldn't you?" The way Thomas' tongue stretches across the L sound seizes a shiver down Hadrian's back.

He leans his full weight against the door. Otherwise he'll lean forward. "Have you ever been called a tyrant before?"

"Only by those who've done wrong."

Hadrian shakes his head lightly. "You should be a horrible leader."

"You wanted a reason to dislike me, love?" Thomas nips at Hadrian's juglar, sending a wave of heat down Hadrian's spine. "You want a clear-cut villain figure to cackle over a cauldron?"

Hadrian grits his teeth. "Dark lords are supposed to be insane."

"Love, you expect me to believe you'd ever be stupid enough to dismiss an entire grouping of people?"

Hadrian's knuckles turn white, fists leaping forward to beat against Thomas' chest. It should've been his fault. Hedwig should be alive, and no one but Hermione should be bothering with a stupid werewolf like him.

He's stronger and better. The scientific community will laud him for his achievements.

Hands have long since curled around his wrists, warm, with veins popping as Thomas keeps him still. "Love."

Hadrian slumps. "I sacrificed my owl to bond myself to you."

Thomas lowers their arms, pulling Hadrian closer.

"Her name was Hedwig. She was going to be worth it."

"Gefährte, James began spewing filth the second he was locked up with no sign of bail."

Hadrian slumps down further, finally letting his head drift forward into Thomas' chest. "Your pledged respect you."

"You expected tyranny."

"You should stop taking care of me, and I should fuck off to Norway."

Thomas smiles against Hadrian's hair, his fingers carding through it. "But just because things _should_ have happened, doesn't mean they will."

Hadrian hums. Lifts his head. Thomas' eyes are impossibly bright. He's as old as Hadrian's parents. "I'm young and stupid."

"And I run a country." _So trust my judgement._

"It really doesn't bother you that I'm seventeen and you're the same age as my parents?"

"Do you wish for _flattery_, darling?"

They drift forward. Heat tangles in Hadrian's stomach, tugging down like an anchor. Their lips are a fingers' breadth apart.

Regulus bursts through the door. "My lord -"

A harsh word passes Thomas' lips, snappy and short. A Chinese swear? "What is it?"

"Dumbledore has challenged."

Doors slam behind Thomas' eyes. He straightens like a marine, hands slipping over Hadrian's hips before clenching at his sides. "That old fool."

"Him and two followers are waiting at the gates."

o0o0o0o

**If it's not already been made obvious, this story is going to be very much entrenched in sexual themes. BDSM will play a role, though I'll use mostly bondage in T and H's relationship. I don't want to just stop the story when they finally have sex, but instead tie it in with character development. **

**I got a comment on the last chapter saying how they thought Hadrian referring to himself as a "girl" to be institutionalized sexism, etc... I want to make it clear that I do not believe women to be weak, and that Hadrian stating that is because he is a mentally unstable individual who has been verbally abused throughout childhood and part of that abuse forwarded the belief that being girly/gay/emotional equals weakness. Thank you to the reviewer who brought this to my attention. As Hadrian's mental state improves we will cover this point.**

**Thank you to everyone for the kind comments. Let me know what you thought of this one?**


	15. Dumbledore and Ginny

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 15 - _Dumbledore and Ginny_

**Excerpt from **_**The Dictionary of Wizarding Words**_

**Zaubist - A witch or wizard of the belief that one or two kind of the three magics - Dark, Grey, and Light - is inherently better than the others. Often used when referring to magical radicals who seek to kill or harm wizards whom they believe inferior due to their magical dynamic. **

**Example: Vlad the Impaler believed that his mother was evil because she only performed Light spells. He was a zaubist. **

Dumbledore doesn't look how Hadrian remembered. Then again, the last time he saw him was ten years ago, and seven-year-old Hadrian hadn't been able to stop contemplating the ingredients required for an eye-twinkling potion.

His forehead is a mess of folded skin, nose and mouth dragged down and stubborn against his fake smile. He leans heavily on a staff, hollow cheeks and pointed beard forming a triangular face.

"Hello Tom," Dumbledore says jovially.

Thomas steps ahead of Hadrian. "You knew that you'd be arrested for coming here, _old man_. Wanting to go out with a bang?"

Dumbledore's grin grows as he peeks around Thomas. "Hadrian Potter, you've certainly grown."

Hadrian tries not to shiver under the force of Dumbledore's gaze. "That _does_ happen to humanoids during adolescence."

"I suggest you start your long speech now, Albus. The Aurors will be here in a few minutes." Thomas' wand twirls around his fingers.

"You're not taking him anywhere!" yells a young woman whose hair strikes from brown into deep red colour. It can't be… A greyed, gnarled man holds her back, his magical eye never looking the same direction as his real one.

"Tonks." Dumbledore raises his hand likes he's about to wave down a cab. She silences. _Nymphadora_ Tonks. "I challenge Thomas Gaunt to a wizard's duel."

Magic snaps around them.

Thomas laughs, a grating thing. "What makes you think I won't cart you straight off to Azkaban?"

"Call it intuition, my boy, but I think you want to know you can beat this _crazy old man._"

Hadrian grits his teeth. He steps beside Thomas and forces his face placid. A hand curls around his forearm, the current sending wrath back and forth into their chests.

"Wouldn't want to look weak in front of jailbait, would ya?" the grizzled man says. He has to be Alastor Moody.

Thomas smiles and rolls his shoulders back. "Is this the way you'd like to die?"

"What makes you think I'll lose, my dear boy? After everything you've done I think it's time for Karma to play her role."

"I accept the challenge." Thomas' wand flickers green.

Dumbledore leans further on his staff and smirks. "Alastor will be my second."

"And Regulus will be mine."

Hadrian curls his fingers around Thomas' hard forearm. Blue eyes pin him. Hadrian forces sibilants from his lips, "He can't kill you."

"No." Thomas smiles. Tucks a lock of hair behind Hadrian's ear. "You see an opening when his minions, you take it, yes?"

Hadrian leans forward and places a closed-mouth kiss to the corner of Thomas' mouth. Straightens and walks to the sidelines, smirking at Nymphadora's affronted expression.

Dumbledore sweeps his open robes away from his waist. Stamps his staff into the ground. It shrinks into a long, gnarled wand of elderwood.

They bow. Magic clashes together like cymbals, sealing the deal of a true wizard's duel. They most follow the rules or the fight will be referred to the seconds. Thomas strikes forward.

Dumbledore flicks the spells away like bugs, smiling all the while.

Their wands dance through their fingers like batons, colours screaming past. The scent of singed grass burns Hadrian's nose. He steps back.

Moody has one foot before the other, body facing between the fighting wizards. Nymphadora's hair flips through colours with her emotions, which slip across her features at the slightest thing.

In what world is she a smart wizard to bring with you on your final duel?

Hadrian and Regulus exchange a nod. The duel's perry and dodge routine is quickly becoming a boring sight.

Nymphadora's eyes roll back into her head, and she slumps to the ground. Moody springs in front of her, wand drawn.

"What did I tell that girl? Constant vigilance!"

"The Minister cannot allow two terrorists to go free." Regulus twirls his wand. "It would be best if you came peacefully."

Moody snorts. Three spells set off like bombs. Regulus and Hadrian raise their shields and strike forward.

It's easy to work together, to feel the next move of their partner and where they should go to complement it. Moody's spells hit hard and fast, unpredictable colours springing forward just when he seems cornered.

Regulus meets Hadrian's eyes for a split second. The plan alights.

Hadrian jumps into Moody's next spell, the skin-flaying curse dissapaiting the moment it hits his skin. He tackles Moody to the ground, barely avoiding a punch to the mouth before he can crack both wrists in his hands.

Moody can't throw him off. Five different binding spells loop over his saggy skin. Regulus knocks him unconscious and Hadrian climbs off.

Thomas and Dumbledore's fight has gotten much closer, the spells brighter and darker. Dumbledore's "light" curses are incredibly powerful and could easily snuff a normal wizard's heart out.

"Can't do anything the right way, can you Tom?" Dumbles grins.

Thomas' next spell clips his ear.

"You didn't call the aurors in, did you?" Hadrian turns to Regulus. The man smirks, fluffing his raven hair in odd directions.

"On our lord's orders. While it would be nice to have Dumbledore disciplined in front of the Wizarding World, something of this sort has to be handled internally."

Hadrian keeps his knees slightly bowed. Anticipates every spell thrown and waits for _the moment_. "I'm not a child you need to explain everything to."

Regulus' grin sharpens. "You ever met Tonks before?"

"A couple of awkward age-gaped play dates before The Incident. Is this really the time for fucking small talk?"

Regulus leans over to whisper, "You think our lord could lose a fight?"

Dumbledore chooses this moment to up his attack, stepping forward, wand spilling magic out like a overfull mug of coffee.

Thomas doesn't budge. His features harden as his defense tightens. They are close enough to touch each others chest with their wands.

"It's time you gave up, Tom. Your reign of terror is over."

Hadrian's knees bend further. Wait for it.

"And the hypocritical zaubist needs to put me in my place, yes?" Thomas sends a wink to Hadrian.

Dumbledore's punch results in cracked fingers and more anger. He throws the wand to the dirt and tries another.

Thomas' smirk disappears. He easily dodges each attack. Why would Dumbledore degrade into fisticuffs? He's one of the most powerful (and insane) wizards in the Wizarding World.

Regulus' raised eyebrow echoes Hadrian's thoughts.

"Nymphadora's innocent!" Dumbledore raves. "You will not harm her!"

"As Lord Black, I have the privilege of disciplining members of the family that have gone astray. I'm within my legal rights to detain her, especially considering she was brainwashed by terrorists." Regulus grins.

"When have you and your lord considered legality?"

A spell spits out on the gate behind Regulus. Like an elastic band, magic snaps through the air. Dumbledore broke the duelling agreement, and Moody is not available to take his place.

Thomas renews his attack, but Dumbledore is ready for a marathon. He's called back his wand and his focus. Neither man can get close to the other and stepping back would put them on the defensive.

"Don't you wish to scream at me some more, old man? There's any number of topics for which I am to blame."

Dumbledore's upper lip curls. "Does it give you joy to bring hundreds of children into your regime? To indoctrinate them with Black magic?"

Thomas laughs. "I've never taught children Black magic, and you know it." His next spell hits Dumbledore's leg.

The old man leans against a tree and manages to keep his defense tight enough that Thomas can't get close. Or, no ordinary wizard could get close.

Thomas begins stepping forward, and when the first spell hits his knee, he makes no move of pain. "And what excuse do you have of letting Hogwarts be a place of bullying, blood, and stupidity? Embezzling the funds because you could?"

"My dear boy, what did you _do_?"

Thomas strides through a barrage of spells. Moves forward quicker than a human could, snatching Dumbledore's wand and sending him to the ground with ropes covering every piece of body but his face.

"Well that was the most dramatic game of cat and mouse I've ever seen." Hadrian says.

Thomas turns and smirks. "He's not going to jail."

"My dear boy -" Dumbledore's lips meld together.

"I didn't believe he was." Hadrian steps beside him.

"We'll have to interrogate Moody and Tonks thoroughly." Thomas says to Regulus.

"Yes sir."

Thomas' fingers brush over Hadrian's neck, causing shivers and a heat in his belly. "Why don't you step inside with your captives, Regulus?"

Two floating bodies follow the Black Lord into the manor.

"That was a satisfying duel." Thomas pulls Hadrian closer.

"And it was all for the Greater Good of Britain, I'm sure." Hadrian smirks. "Do you think Fiendfyre will work?"

Thomas' eyes glitter as they fasten to Dumbledore's bound form. "Wouldn't hurt to give it a try. You'll help me though, right love?"

There's no need for Hadrian to tangle his fingers in Thomas', to pull up his magic in time, and to press their sides together, Thomas' magic a yellowy green beating from his

heart to his fingertips.

Death Valley heat pounces at his face. Hadrian stops his twitch. Nothing can hurt him now. Wide eyes of blue seize onto their forms before being engulfed in orange and red flame.

Thomas pulls him away. The ashes have long since gathered, but heat continues to beat across his cheeks.

"Are you well, darling?" Hands slip over the bones of his face, and the heat begins to dissipate.

Hadrian tries to shake the stupid away. He blinks into aquamarine blue, his gaze falling onto thin red lips. "I haven't kissed many people." He regrets saying it, but then Thomas moves closer -

"I'm honoured to be among the list." Though he looks like he'll all the others that are on it.

"I shouldn't be fucking honoured to let you."

Their lips slam together, teeth clanking before they set the rhythm. Thomas' hands brand Hadrian's hips, holding him against the wall with gentle force.

A tongue slides against Hadrian's, tightening the spiral of heat in his stomach. He would fall if not for Thomas. Something hard digs into his stomach.

Thomas' tongue furthers its explanation. Hadrian squirms under the onslaught.

"You're so beautiful, love. Magnificent, intelligent-" Thomas plants an innocent, closed-mouth kiss to the corner of Hadrian's lips, but it burns like spark.

Hadrian's lashes flutter, attempting to keep his eyes closed. His head knocks back against the wall. "_Thomas_."

Magic squeezes around his body, his back hitting the wall of Thomas' bedroom. Hadrian chuckles and squirms out of the hold. His legs nearly give out.

"All these windows for a Dark Lord?" Hadrian strides across the room. Slides his fingers through velvet green curtains. "At least you stayed true to Slytherin colours."

"Or perhaps I just knew what sheets you would look the prettiest against."

Hadrian swallows. Turns back to meet a heated gaze. Thomas' eyes flicker red, his glamour falling away like a waterfall. Hadrian wants to lick every scale on his body.

Thomas manages to gracefully tug his robes over his head, then stalks over to Hadrian in nothing but his pants. "Do you want this, love?"

That question is a bit late, isn't it? Hadrian finally kissed him. Let him slam Hadrian against the wall and apparate to the bedroom.

A frown creases his brow. He sways forward, pressing his tongue against the bite mark on Thomas' neck. It tastes of burnt meat.

It tastes like Dumbledore's death.

He bolts for the bathroom, but only makes it far enough to vomit on the tile. His hand snaps around the counter, body shaking.

Fingers trail along his back. Soothe through the aftershocks. Hadrian banishes the puke and casts a cleaning spell on his mouth.

Thomas waits patiently against the bathroom door frame. "It's not weak to be repulsed by death."

"I've killed before." Hadrian's fingers shake as they fasten the top buttons of his shirt.

"And you still think about them, don't you?" Thomas steps forward, wrapping his arms around Hadrian.

He stiffens, but Thomas is warm and the smell has been scoured from his skin. "You cast a heavy cleaning spell on yourself."

"Well I wasn't about to let it affect you again. I've got a high-pain tolerance, love; it was barely more than an itch."

Hadrian doesn't believe that. He curls in closer against Thomas' naked chest. Runs his fingers through the light chest hair across his pecs.

"You need a good rest, don't you love?"

Hadrian's eyes slip shut as if by command. Arms slip under his knees and back, until he's resting in the softest bed to ever exist.

He manages to blink up at Thomas, whose attention fixes on tucking the blankets around Hadrian's body.

o0o0o0o

Morning dawns with the sun screaming at his eyes. Hadrian rolls over into another dent in the mattress, remnants of warmth soaking into his bones.

He'd slept in Thomas' bed. His feet hit the carpet; toes dig in. He tries to calm his heartbeat. What in Hades had he been thinking? All of his goals and aspirations, are they to be thrown out the fucking window?

He follows the smell of coffee. Non-surprisingly, there's a parlour attached to the bedroom. Thomas stretches on a window seat with a newspaper in his lap and a coffee mug in hand. The light halos around his body almost like he's emanating it himself.

Thomas turns to him and _smiles_. "Morning, love."

The sunshine of the moment breaks when a tiny owl barrels toward Hadrian, slamming into his chest and falling to the carpet.

"It's been waiting two hours to do that."

"It's a she. Hello Pig." Hadrian crouches down and lets her jump onto his fingers (they can't pierce his skin now).

Pig sticks out her leg, somehow looking regal after all her clumsiness. Thomas' stare wriggles under Hadrian's skin as he skimreads the letter.

_Hadrian,_

_You were right. The tuition ran out last month. I've got enough stashed away to pay for the rest, but my parents are trying to get me to spend my last year at Hogwarts. Something's going on. I wouldn't write to you unless it was serious. _

_Ron's gone sour. He's involved with the Order. _

_You've got connections now, don't you darling? Help a girl out? _

_I've missed you. _

_-G_

He tosses the letter into Thomas' lap and pours himself a large mug of black coffee. Thomas' jaw tightens.

"Who's G?"

"Ginevra Weasley." Hadrian smirks. Thomas body has gone stiff. "I dated her in sixth year, thought maybe then father could be proud of his heterosexual son making connections with the right people."

"Her family are blood traitors."

"And are very good friends with James, but she's a Veela." Hadrian swallows. He can only be so blasé. His steps fall into a rhythm, to the fireplace, then to the door, repeat.

Thomas leans back in the seat, fingers steepled in front on his chest. "The only fake thing about your relationship was what kind it was, yes?"

Hadrian continues pacing. Ron was a wanker before, but under Dumbledore's influence wanker could easily transition to terrorist. Ginny - she's smart enough to hold her own. She wouldn't contact him unless she _needed_ him.

"You loved her." Thomas stops Hadrian with a gentle hand on each shoulder.

"She was one of the only creatures in school."

"She understood you."

"I helped her hone in her allure."

"But they found out she was Veela anyways, and there are no Veela on the Weasley family tree."

Hadrian finds himself falling forward, head pressed into Thomas' chest. "She took a bribe from my father. We were only ever friends, but I never cared so much when Hermione was absent."

"And Ron?"

"Didn't approve, I -" _Don't spill the information._ Hadrian grits his teeth and pushes through the voice. "I think Ronald will try to attack."

"I heard whispers of your grudge."

"_His_ grudge. Attracted a fuck-ton of attention trying to dodge every poison attempt thrown my way."

"But he was caught last semester." Thomas draws a line down Hadrian's jaw.

He fights a shiver. "I'm going to press charges. Drag his rep down."

"You want my help?"

Hadrian grits his teeth and pulls back. "I don't need it."

"I know you don't, but I'm offering. It would _satisfying_." Thomas' eyes glint with his smile.

"Would my father have gotten the proper trial had you not intervened?"

"Yes." Thomas kisses his forehead. "Wouldn't have been as efficient, but yes."

"I…" Accepting help is not something to be thought about at the current moment. The room turns up temperature ten degrees. "Is my mother going to be tried?"

"Not unless new evidence comes to light."

Hadrian twitches. "I'm going to go see her."

"Now?"

Hadrian straightens his back and strides out the door.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian pulls his shoulders back and strides through the manor. Fally blinks at him, her ears wagging by her sides.

"Lady Potter is being a this way."

Hadrian nods. Portraits comment on his attire, his heritage, his treachery. He's always hated this hallway. Everything is cold marble, dark coloured walls with tiny stained-glass windows.

A beige door creaks open. Lily stands, fingers playing with her deep red hair. "_Harry_." Big green eyes.

Hadrian plops into James' stiff armchair across from her and grins. "Dad's gone away for good, ma."

Her hands worry the hem of her dress. "Are you… do you want your inheritance back?"

"Don't care about that. Just wanna know what _you_ are going to do.

"He's coming back, Harry."

"Just because a handful of extremely powerful wizards lived past 150 doesn't mean he will. What, you're just going to rot here instead of making a life for yourself?"

"I-" Her frantic gaze flits about the room.

Hadrian leans forward. "What do you _want, _Mum?"

Lily looks at him, her eyes half dead. "I don't - I don't know."

He crouches in front of her and takes her hand. She curls her finger with his.

"James said you're… dating Minister Gaunt now." Hadrian would be willing to bet a good sum that James never used the word 'dating.'

"I am." He slides his thumb over the reedy vein of her wrist. He could snap her with his pinky.

"I want to meet him." She straightens, blinking away a bit of the hollowed look. "Make sure he's treating you right."

Hadrian pulls his hand from hers and paces over to stare at the fire. "Father never treated me right."

"He loves you so much, Harry. Just give him some time."

"He tried to _kill_ me." Hadrian turns back to her and _grins_. "But no one can kill me anymore, ma. Thomas is my _mate_, and he turned me."

She gasps. "Harry."

His glamour falls away like a veil. Lily swallows and coaxes a finger over the point of his ear. "What did he do to you?"

"Saved my life." Hadrian cocks his head to the side. Stares at her pale white neck and lets his fangs slick out of his gums. "And I'm giving you this chance to accept _me _or I'm leaving you forever, and you won't get any aid from my connections."

"Harry please put them away."

He does so.

Lily shakes like a house under a tsunami. "You know what James says about creatures."

"You mean the _murderer_ too stupid not to get caught?"

She straightens, and the distress peels away from her features. "My dear boy, that's no way to talk about your father."

"Mum?"

Her wand flicks out of a holster in her sleeve. Since when does she do that? Hadrian's hits his palm. He cocks his head at her.

"Why do you insist on letting that Gaunt use you for his own gain? You're so so bright, Harry. The Resistance would accept you with open arms, no manipulation."

Hadrian plants his feet. "You think the wife of a dirty cop will get anywhere in Britain? They're slaughtering you with their tongues _right now_, ma."

She raises her chin, eyes twinkling bright. "You've made it clear you don't see me as that anymore."

He smiles. Gathers the magic from the tips of his toes and the points of his fingers and breaks through the wards.

He lands in Thomas' manor and heads straight for the bedroom. It's too easy to wrap his arms around Thomas' middle and press his ear against his heartbeat. He inhales the scent and tries to slow his own heart.

Thomas returns the embrace. "I'm assuming the visit didn't go well."

"I didn't expect it to."

"But you _wanted_ it to." Thomas kisses his forehead and pulls back enough to maintain piercing eye contact.

"You can kiss me."

It's everything their first kiss was not, languid and emotional, a pause button on the passion for each others' bodies. Hadrian smoothes his hands down the muscles of Thomas' back. He's so corded and strong. It makes sense why he's fearless.

Their clothed dicks press into hips, but that's not what this kiss is for. Hadrian savours the seconds where he doesn't have to think too hard beyond tongues in mouth and hands on bodies.

"My father left my mother when she became pregnant. He only remained with her long enough for that to happen because he was entranced by all things magic and she was his way in." Thomas sits on the plush green couch and pulls Hadrian onto his lap.

Hadrian's stomach twists around a boulder. It's much easier than talking to mouth along Thomas' neck, where the scent is the strongest, and to press his teeth against the skin.

Thomas noses along Hadrian's jugular. His dick hardens against Thomas' hip. They simultaneously sink their teeth into each others' necks.

Lightning strikes through Hadrian's body. He squirms, opening the bite further for both of them. They lick the marks and begin a slow grind.

Thomas pulls away, hands on Hadrian's hips. "If your mother was involved with the resistance, she'll have to arrested." His pupils are blown.

"Whatever you want." Hadrian rotates his hips.

Their teeth clank together, tongues plundering as the desperation rises. Thomas rips the robes from Hadrian's back, pushing them up and over with a little slide of his thumbs across nipples.

Hadrian holds back a whimper and shreds Thomas' robes at the shoulder seams. He presses his lips to a scaled collarbone, play biting the skin there.

All that's left are pants. Thomas' hands stretch across his shoulder blades, pressing them together as close as possible.

Hadrian gasps and arches.

"Let me give you the bite, love." Thomas tugs his ear with his teeth.

Hadrian scrambles backwards, nearly falling as he gets to his feet. His head rings, dick throbbing in his boxers. "I have to go."

"Just tell me no. There's no need to run." Thomas takes his hand, pressing his lips to a knuckle.

Hadrian should bolt for the door. He doesn't. Instead he redresses himself and sits on the couch beside Thomas.

"What were you working on before I came in?"

"Reviewing a law some Greys are trying to pass through parliament." Thomas smiles. "Why don't you call your books here?"

Hadrian swallows. "I'd like that."

So they work in silence. It doesn't hang like the familial hush Hadrian is used to. It's comfortable and warm, and every so often they meet eyes and give small smiles, or exchange little tidbits of conversation.

Hours later, Hadrian presses a kiss to Thomas' cheek and goes to his own bedroom. The sleep is long, and he wakes up refreshed to his alarm.

It's Monday.

o0o0o0o

**I'm hoping Ginny didn't seem too info-dumpy. I've known Hadrian and Ginny's relationship since the beginning, so I hope I didn't spring it on y'all all at once.**

**Two steps forward, two steps back. I didn't think the sexy times were gonna get as far as they did this chapter, but… you're welcome? I'm trying to match emotional and physical intimacy, so the more Hadrian trusts Thomas, the more sex;) **

**Thanks for all the lovely comments/reviews!**

**Next: Hadrian goes back to Hogwarts!**


	16. Return to Hogwarts

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 16 - _Return to Hogwarts_

"You felt threatened by him how?"

"He tried to attack me eighteen times and tried to kill me for nine."

The auror's eyes widen, slipping from Hadrian to Thomas. "Once we've gathered the preliminary evidence, we will most definitely being taking him to trial. Is there anything else you know that could help us?"

"Hermione Black saved me from being thrown of the Astronomy Tower by him. She's willing to testify for it."

"Alright." Her quill scribbles violently into the parchment. "We'll letter you with further questions. You can be assured that the Auror Department considers such threats most seriously."

"As the law should, with murder." Hadrian smiles just to watch her squirm.

"Thank you, Miss Davis." Thomas says.

She dimples deep enough to split her young face into dozens of sections. "We'll be in touch." The adoration is gag worthy.

Hadrian stands with Thomas and grins from the onslaught of _boredom _filling their connection.

They walk away. Hadrian's hand itches to be in Thomas', but that's weird, and they haven't discussed PDA.

Thomas wants to have a formal bonding ceremony in the summer, with well-paid press to adjust the wizarding world without panic or outrage. While age-gaps are more common among magic folk, Thomas and Hadrian as a pairing is something no one will expect.

Hadrian doesn't want to think about all those greedy eyes on him and his Gefährte. Thomas is _his_. At least, his wolf thinks so.

They apparate back to the manor so Hadrian can grab his trunk.

"You did wonderful, love."

Hadrian blinks up. Fingers trail down his cheekbones. He swallows and hardens. "I've got to be at school in fifteen minutes."

His back hits the wall.

Thomas smiles, slowly curling his fingers around Hadrian's wrists. He raises them above his head and kisses his temple.

"You want to make use of it? "

Hadrian's body burns. His eyelashes flutter, head banging back into the wall. He sucks in oxygen. "Yes."

Thomas's smiles blooms brighter. He presses a slow kiss to the corner of Hadrian's mouth. His body presses against Hadrian's.

Their dicks press together through cloth, and Hadrian twitches through the sensation. His stomach twists and _burns_. Arousal throbs through him, echoing through the bond and strengthening with each second.

Lips meet. Thomas' tongue plunders his mouth, leaving his essence on every nook and cranny. It's dirty and deep. Hadrian loves every second of it.

Thomas grinds against him, and all Hadrian can do is squirm and take it. Pressure builds at the base of his spine, curling in his lower belly.

Then he's falling from a skyscraper and his wings refuse to engage. He screams. The wind whips into his pores.

Hadrian awakens and tries to gasp the air back into his lungs. His rune-covered room is lightly lit with dawn, blankets attempting to strangle his legs.

Apparently yesterday's events are deemed important enough to dream about. Hadrian presses his hand down to calm his dick, but it ignites the fire along his spine. There wasn't any real French kissing yesterday, just too much talking and ministry officials.

Apparently returning to school after a month long absence isn't easy, and the investigation takes more than one auror's questions before he's allowed to leave. Thomas looming by his side only made the questioning lengthen.

His hand slips into pajama pants, past cotton to grip around his straining cock. Hadrian's head thunks back onto the pillow.

He holds back a whine. Thomas' touches have become more frequent, but there's always an interruption or panic attack to stifle their sexual exploration. Oh hell, he's fucking _horny_.

An orgasm shakes up from his legs, squeezing his stomach and spine. He bites his lip as the come slicks his cock. The tingles cause one last moan before they disappear. He banishes the come and extricates his hand from around the flacid dick.

Hadrian is still unsatisfied. He hops out of bed. His skin is sweaty and dirty, and the packed bag looms against the door.

A shower does nothing to soothe, and neither does another orgasm. He could breakfast with Thomas. Instead, an elf brings him a sausage sandwich and Hadrian speed-walks to the apparition room.

"Trying to leave without saying goodbye?" Thomas' charcoal robes highlight his piercing eye colour and flawless skin.

Hadrian presses a lingering kiss to a sharp cheekbone. "Early classes."

"I don't think Hogwarts has changed class times in the last month."

Heat pricks at Hadrian's ears.

Thomas' arm curls around his waist, tugging them together. "Just a couple months, love."

Is he reassuring Hadrian or himself? Their next kiss is a tangle of tongues and hands over bodies. A low burn boils in Hadrian's lower stomach. He stifles a groan and steps away. "I've got a meeting next weekend, so I'll just stay at Hogwarts."

"Of course." Thomas' eyes tighten enough to flatten an automobile.

Hadrian apparates to Hogwarts.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian steps out of McGonagall's office.

"Good morning, Mr Evans." Snape's face turns pointy in the low torchlight. "Nice vacation?"

"Absolutely wonderful. Feels like my life has been _changed_ for _eternity_, you know?"

Snape rolls his eyes. His robe whips behind as he strides down the hall. Hadrian straightens, keeping stride with a grin.

"I take it from your stalking you're following me to Potions?"

"Fuck yeah."

"I don't believe our lord will care if I take 100 points from Slytherin, but your classmates certainly will."

Hadrian laughs, warmth blooming in his chest. "We'll be covering the Noxus Potion today, correct?"

Snape's eyes cut over to him. "I expect you to hand in everything you missed by the end of the week."

"I feel so special. I was just wondering whether you believe amber or honeyflower to be more effective in the second stage?"

"We'll be using honeyflower." Which is Snape's way of saying that he prefers amber, but honeyflower is too expensive to be _wasted_ on students. His arm brackets the doorway, eyes dark and fixed on Hadrian.

Hadrian ducks under the professor's arm, into the classroom and into the fire. The two thirds of present classmates attempt to stare into his soul. Gossip seeps through the tables like oil through a lake.

"Hads." Hermione jumps from her seat, lacing her hand in his and pulling him beside her.

"Hey cousin."

Her hair looks bouncier than the last time he saw her, her smile wider and eyes brighter. "You missed a lot."

He smiles. Snape calls the class to order, voice dark and near a whisper.

Draco turns back from the seat in front of them. He stares at Hadrian like he's seeing a alicorn for the first time. His heart beats loudly at a mouse's pace.

Daphne's hand curls around Draco's shoulder, squeezing. Draco looks near whiplash at the speed he turns back to the front.

Hadrian stifles a laugh. The smell of teenage frustration is almost enough for him to stick his head in the snake oil.

The potion recipe writes itself onto the chalkboard. Snape crosses his arms and glares the students into movement.

Hadrian strides to the ingredient cabinet. Draco reaches for the eye of newt, stiffening when Blaise does simultaneously.

"Evans." Blaise curls his hand around Hadrian's forearm. "You certainly don't feel like a man that's been ill for a month."

Hadrian smiles wide. Blaise curses and pulls his burning hand away. "What the fuck?"

"10 points from Slytherin. Mr. Zabini, spend less time flirting and more time on your classwork."

Draco's eyes speak a thousand unintelligible words, fingers fumbling around his final needed bottle. Hadrian gathers the rest of the ingredients and returns to Hermione.

She glances between the estranged couple, her eyes lit with mirth.

o0o0o0o

Snape brings Hermione and Hadrian's potion up to the light, examining it much closer than the others. The turquoise liquid glitter with flakes of gold, incandescent by torchlight. "Well done."

Hadrian grabs their bags. Hermione's hand is slightly sweaty in his, her smile wide as she tugs him to Head Girl quarters.

"As you've already seen, Blaise got tired of being the lover in the shadows, so he's hooking up with Seamus in an attempt to make Draco break off the engagement, and Daphne's claws are organ deep in Draco."

"The drama never stops with them." Hadrian flops onto Hermione's bed. "And you forgot to mention Viktor Krum becoming our new flying instructor. He seems to certainly be taking _you_ to new heights."

She rolls her eyes. "He's already endured the shovel talk from both my fathers and Severus."

"That doesn't mean I'm not going to test him."

Hermione crawls beside him, resting her head on his chest. "Your 'vacation' seems to have treated you well."

Her hair is soft between his fingers. "Hm?"

"You never let me do this before."

Hadrian swallows and steels himself. "You're pack."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't lie to you."

She traces his collarbone, up to the mark on his neck. "You and Gaunt worked it out, then?"

"Somewhat."

Hermione sits up and smirks. "Hadrian Evans, you had sex with him, didn't you?"

"No… almost." He sits up against the headboard, knuckles white around his knees.

Her glee softens. "Then what happened?"

"We almost had sex three times, but I just… I always ruin it."

She rolls her eyes. "You two are sexy as hell and bonded for life. The commitment is a lot to take in, but you don't have to stick it in each other right away."

"Cousin, who knew you could be so krass?"

"You do… and maybe Viktor." Her smile turns dark.

A laugh bubbles up from his stomach.

o0o0o0o

Two stiff library chairs have been pushed together. Viktor's arm rests across the back of Hermione's chair.

Hadrian plops across from them. Viktor's dark eyebrows attempt to collide. His square jaw clenches into a smile/grimace.

"You both look _lovely_. Getting some good study time then?"

Hermione's eyes shine.

"I thought he was a werewolf," Viktor mutters, Scandinavian accent thick around the th's and w's.

"_Boys_." Hermione's fingers dance a pattern into the table. How is she so elegant and cool?

Hadrian stifles a wince as his fangs retract. This man is too strong, too handsome, and Hermione only chooses the smart ones. How can Hadrian possibly compare?

"I'm the Minister's lover," Hadrian lowers his voice, cocking his head to the side.

A small smile corners Viktor's lips. His hand twitches around the knob of Hermione's chair. "And my father's the Magical Minister of Bulgaria."

Hadrian inhales deeply. "You've been making Amortentia."

Hermione rolls her eyes and turns back to _5 Ways of Spelling Against Natural Disasters._

"I was." Viktor lets the silence hold. "Severus asked for my aid in preparation for your class." His heartbeat holds steady.

Hadrian wants to say he's lying. In the last three years Snape has commandeered Hadrian and Hermione's services only. Hadrian is more cautious and more intelligent than any other potion student in the school. It's stupid, though, this tightening in his chest.

It's just Potions.

"I would never do anything to hurt your cousin, Mr. Evans."

"She's better than any woman you'll ever find, _Viktor_."

Hermione looks up, eyes wide and twinkling.

"I'm well aware of that, Hadrian. You can trust me with her."

Hermione puts her hands on theirs and squeezes tighter than a polite handshake resistance. "That's enough posturing, you two. My judgement with both boyfriends and pack mates needs to be acknowledged."

Viktor nods to Hadrian.

Why does he feel the need to challenge Viktor to a duel? That's not what anyone wants. Hadrian nods and pulls his shoulders back.

He untangles his hand from Hermione's. Digs through his moleskine bag and slides a small jewelry box across the table. "Happy birthday."

"Her birthday was two weeks ago." Viktor grumbles.

"For which I was in a coma." Hadrian says brightly.

Hermione's small, ink-stained hands pull the box open. "Oh." She holds the necklace up by its silver chain, window sunlight spilling through the ruby. Her thumb brushes over the gem.

"It's _beautiful_. How long did you work on this?"

He swallows. "Long enough. Glad you like it."

Viktor leans over to view it more closely. "Those are runes?"

"Yes." Hadrian crosses his arms. That statement was supposed to prompt an explanation, but it's nice to see Viktor's eye twitch.

The Bulgarian sighs and seems to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "How did you get them so small?"

"A very tiny knife."

Hermione sputters a laugh. "You used the LASER technique we were talking about?"

Hadrian shrugs.

She casts a magnifying spell. Her gasp causes Viktor to do the same. Hadrian twitches in his chair. Stop squirming. Keep yourself calm and confident.

"There's over a dozen protections." Hermione's finger slides more reverently over the necklace.

He manages a small smile. "I'm going to go find the book I need for my Herbology essay."

Viktor's presence weighs Hadrian's chest. Before, he could hug Hermione, kiss her cheek, talk about things of _importance_.

Stop that. Viktor won't always be here.

Hadrian finishes his essay and eats his dinner in the kitchens. House elves may stare, but their eyes don't have the same pressure Magicals' do.

It's quiet enough. Hermione won't miss him. When Saturday dawns, he's ready for the job it brings.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian stops at the bar to order a cosmo and a firewhiskey. Smirks when the young bartender nearly drops the shaker. He thanks him with a kiss on the palm and a good tip.

Ginevra smiles from the booth; accepts the glass with allure so high it's as if Hadrian is staring into a bonfire.

"These last two months have certainly changed you, dear." She sips the cocktail, lips leaving a deep red stain around the rim.

Hadrian waves a hand. His wards are stronger than hers, encasing their booth like a cocoon or a jail cell. "Are you going to explain why you invited me here, or blast your allure all day?"

She smiles. Cocks her head to the side. "You feel different."

"As do you." She's still beautiful, still clever, still a woman. "_Gin_."

"Fine. Dumbledore's planning a Ministry takedown."

Hadrian laughs loudly. "It hasn't hit the papers yet, but Dumbledore's dead."

"Hm, are you sure?" Ginevra sips ever so slowly.

"I helped burn him alive."

Her eyes widen, glass clinking down onto the table. "Well then, it seems his followers continue to orchestrate his bidding." She slips her hand over his, curling their fingers together.

His chest tightens. He pulls his hand away. "We were never like this, Gin. And why do you care about a British revolution? You've enough connections in the French Veela community to keep you safe."

"Maybe, but Gaunt has brought incredible change for us. I'm going to do my part to keep our culture and lives respected."

Hadrian laughs. "You've fallen in love with a British citizen."

She pouts. "A year, and you still read me as well as before."

Metal crashes against the floor behind the bar. The poor bartender mops up the dropped drink, a stocky redhead leaning over the counter, his jaw clenched.

"I never said I would help you."

"But you will anyway. Gaunt's looking for him, isn't he?" Ginevra smiles.

Hadrian rolls his eyes. Jumps to his feet and strides towards Ron.

"Potter." Ron swigs back a shot of transparent liquid. "You're looking as fucking stupid as ever."

"Dodging the aurors so far, have you?"

The skin around Ron's eyes tightens. "It was a harmless kid's prank, mate."

"That fact that you think seventeen is a suitable age for attempted murder doesn't surprise me at all."

"As if you'll win in court. I've got loads of mates testifying for me. Who do you have?" Ron reaches for a bottle of firewhiskey. It shatters against the floor behind the bar. The bartender shoots up to his feet. Little shards of glass are embedded in his face.

"I think you need to apologize to…" Hadrian glances at the nametag. "Josiah."

Ron snorts. "He's the fucking idiot that stuck his head in the way."

"I don't think I made myself clear." Hadrian's fangs snick out from his canines, face heating and crackling.

"When Dumbledore rules, creatures like you will have to serve the true wizards." Ronald's finger strikes out like a fire poker. Does he have a death wish? Ron's finger cracks with the force he pushes it against Hadrian's chest.

"That looks like it hurt." Hadrian casts an incarcerous. The magic weaves tight around Ronald like an anaconda.

"Ginny! Why the fuck you standing there for?"

She crosses her arms and raises a brow. "Letting Hadrian take you to the proper authorities."

Hadrian casts a silencio and levitation spell. "This has been wonderful, Ginevra, but I'm afraid we've been cut short."

"I'm sure there will be another occasion in the future."

"_Of course._" Hadrian pauses a little longer than necessary. Her ringlets glint coppery gold in the light. He used to feel so warm when those red lips crooked in a smile for him. Was he so affection-starved that a tiny friendship caused him to devote every hour to her?

She's all play at elegance. Thomas only plays in bed, or with traitors that deserve the cruciatus.

Hadrian sends a Patronus the second after they apparate into the manor. Ron's body floats behind him, as if Hadrian's a house elf bringing a red-headed sack of potatoes to the cellars.

When Thomas arrives at the dungeon Hadrian can't stop himself from standing a bit like a guard.

Blue eyes slip over to the bound form. Hadrian's back hits the wall. Thomas pauses before pressing his mouth to Hadrian, fast, passionate, and dirty. Hadrian squirms and moans as Thomas' tongue plunders.

Then Thomas pulls away, giving the darkest grin Hadrian has ever received. "Thank you for the present, darling."

"How do you know he's for you?"

"You would have taken care of him elsewhere, love. Don't think me dense."

"You're about as dense as angel food cake."

Thomas' eyebrow ascends as if tied to a marionette string, but he'd never be a puppet. "Food similes?"

Hadrian's past words make him squirm, so he attaches his lips to Thomas' and slides their tongues together. Thomas pulls away and grins, the slightest line between his brows.

Ron's body floats up. His back hits the white cement wall, arms fastened above his head in chains, ankles locked in tight. The body bind releases, and he's stretched as far as he can be while still standing.

"He told me about you!" Ronald revs against the bonds like a pitbull in a dog fight.

Thomas smiles and saunters forward. "I'm afraid we haven't been formally introduced. You are one of the traitors to the British Ministry of Magic, yes?"

"You're poisoning everyone with filthy Black magic! But you won't win!"

"Why don't you tell me how your little _group_ plans to do that?"

Ron finally has the presence of mind to attempt to bite his own tongue. His face scrunches, body tensing. "What did you do to me? I can't - we're not planning - they didn't let me onto the full plan. I'm supposed to kidnap your fucking boyfriend and bring him somewhere."

Hadrian crosses his arms and leans against the opposite wall. Thomas' robes do nothing to hide his broad shoulders. They felt so strong under Hadrian's hands.

"Where is that _somewhere_?" Thomas voice falls low and quiet.

Metal jingles as Ron fights. "It's a house under Fidelius. Mrs. Potter apparated me there once."

"Perfect, then you won't mind if I just snatch that location, will you?" Thomas curls his hands around Ron's cheeks and tips Ron's chin up. They're too close together.

Hadrian steps forward silently.

"I do bloody mind! You're fucking insane -" Ron's eyes cloud over, mouth slack. The skin around his face droops, and he begins to shake.

Thomas' smirks tug at Hadrian's lower belly. He releases Ron. "Not a single Occlumency barrier."

"He was too easy to capture." Hadrian cocks his head to the side. Ronald's face is a fascinating sight, slowly tightening and regaining colour. "My mother is part of this."

"It seems so." Thomas' hand curls around his waist, tugging them through the door and down the hallway. "We're not going."

It's a smart move, slow and calculated. With the Order of the Phoenix scrambling for another plan, they'll be likely to be even sloppier. "Does the airborne veritasium automatically dispense at a prisoner, or is it always latent in the dungeons?"

"It releases from a small hole above the prisoner as soon as they're chained in."

Thomas presses Hadrian against the wall. Their lips are centimeters apart, the electricity between them swelling like a stormy sea.

"Green." Hadrian can't take it any longer.

"Of course, love." Thomas' fingers burn around the nape of Hadrian's neck, spilling colours and emotions through the bond. Hadrian's heart swells in time with his dick.

A hot kiss presses into his cheek. He pushes forward for friction.

Thomas' hands tighten. "Soon."

Hadrian goes limp and soaks in the sensations. Thomas presses their bodies together _slowly, _until they're hip to hip and chest to chest. Hadrian tips his chin up, sighing when their mouths finally join.

"Beautiful." Thomas whispers against his mouth. He rubs them together. Hadrian shakes with it, on the edge immediately. "You're so close, aren't you? What do you want, love?"

The words swallow deep into Hadrian's throat, so he presses his wrists together and holds them palm up. Thomas' fingers wrap around each, stronger and unbreakable. He pulls them above Hadrian's head.

Then he slots a thigh between Hadrian's and starts rocking. Hadrian pants and squirms, the tangle of heat in his belly already tight. He's so close to release.

Teeth sink into his neck, burning and screaming into the skin. Hadrian falls over the edge. He groans with the orgasm. A cotton-fuzz overtakes his brain as the pleasure fades into a different sort.

His feet aren't on the ground anymore. Thomas carries him bridal style. His back hits a soft blanket. Thomas smoothes kiss into his brow.

Hadrian blinks upwards. Thomas is on hands and knees above him, his erection still hard. He lifts his hand.

"No need."

Hadrian sighs. He's so tired now, though an orgasm brought off through masturbation rarely keeps him down for more than a minute.

Thomas vanishes their clothes and _stares._

"Green." Hadrian mumbles. Thomas' dick is long and thick, and if Hadrian had the energy he'd be licking into the scales off his hip bones.

Their lips meet. It becomes a tangle of lazy tongues. Thomas' cock slides precome along Hadrian's body, gentle and slow. He props his elbows beside Hadrian's ears.

Hadrian moans as the pace increases. Thomas' eyes are a deep chasm, and the heat rushing through Hadrian's veins seems unending.

Thomas grunts and stops moving, warm liquid spilling onto Hadrian's stomach.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian wakes with a shudder. He reaches out, but there's no one there.

"Morning, love." Thomas buttons up the last button of his robes. "There's breakfast downstairs if you want to join me."

Hadrian stumbles to his feet. "I can't be gone much longer."

Thomas wraps his arms around his waist and pulls them together. "Hogwarts has too many rules." Thomas says into his mouth. "And they're for everyone else."

Hadrian finally manages to pull back. He rolls his eyes and laughs. "Because you're the Minister, of course."

Thomas' hands tighten around his shoulder and his waist. The _strength_ has Hadrian fighting blazing arousal alighting his entire body. And Thomas feels the same way, so they ricochet off of each other, doing nothing but standing and shivering in feelings.

"I'm leaving now."

"Be off now."

Their breath intermingles. Hadrian just grows _hotter_. "Out the door as of two minutes ago."

"Absolutely."

"This is ridiculous." Hadrian presses a kiss to the corner of Thomas' mouth.

"We're fools."

"Insane."

"Crazy."

"Lovesick."

Thomas' smirk, darkens his features. "Teenagers."

o0o0o0o

Hadrian stalks the halls, moonlight glimmering through his cloak. His bare feet move soundlessly against dust and stone.

"Blaise please." Draco's on his knees, a dark-skinned hand in his.

"Have you broken off the engagement?"

Draco's mouth opens and closes like a fish.

Blaise rips his hand away. "I told you what I need. This is not a manipulative ultimatum, Draco; it's basic respect."

"I'm the only heir."

"My inheritance is enough for the both of us, and we can blood adopt like the Blacks." Blaise's face screws up as his voice grows more passionate. Hadrian remembers that. Wanting to be in control of your desires.

"You know I can't do that."

"No. You won't listen, and I won't be used." Blaise stomps down the hall.

Draco slumps against the wall. Tears race down his cheeks, face placid.

"That could have gone better." Hadrian tucks the cloak away, crossing his arms and smirking.

Draco jumps to his feet. The combination of torchlight and tears makes him look gaunt and fucking sparkly. "That was none of your business, _Potter_."

Hadrian's hand fits perfectly around Draco's neck, Gucci loafers swinging above the stone floor. He rasps in breaths. Clutches at Hadrian's hand.

Purple spills underneath Draco's skin. "_Evans._"

"There we go." Hadrian releases him. "Next time you forget my name, I'll hold you a bit longer."

"You're a freak." Draco coughs.

Hadrian smiles and curls his hand around Draco's shoulder. The Malfoy heir jumps back into the wall.

"Stop." Draco's eyes cross as he attempts to stare down the foreign extremity.

"What's the _magic_ word?"

"Please."

Hadrian steps away.

Draco swallows. Opens his mouth and shuts it. He gets a few metres down the hallway before Hadrian says,

"You scared Daddy's going to be ashamed of you?"

Shoulder hunched into his body, Draco shrugs. "Like your father's not."

"James is in jail for trying to murder me."

Draco turns back, jaw clenched. His eyes narrow and burn. "Sure, Evans, your father's a big bad bully, but who just choked me up against a wall? At least my father loves me."

Hadrian forces himself to hold his fists at his sides. He steps forward. "If your father really loved you, he wouldn't force you into a relationship for no other reason than for control."

A harsh laugh fills the hallway. Draco throws his head back and leans a hand against the wall.

"Stop that." He's being mocked. That shouldn't happen to him anymore. His chest tightens, hands itching to push, to punch, to break.

"Sorry. You're just so pathetic." _You're a pathetic excuse for a son._ "Maybe I'll see if the Minister likes blonds, get my father thrown in the cell beside Mr. Potter's."

Hadrian throws Draco into the wall and holds him up by the lapels. "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it."

"Go on then, hit me." Draco lifts his chin and spits.

Hadrian releases him. Draco falls to the ground, robes rumpled and hair mussed. He massages the red mark around his neck once, then reclaims his anger and looks up.

"Too bad. You've always been cool-headed and snobby, Evans. He fuck your brains out too?"

Draco's heart beats so fast. His jugular pounds visibly. Hadrian's mouth fills with saliva, his canines slicking out of his gums.

He squats and holds Draco by the jaw. "You keep talking shit and eventually the wrong person will hear you. If you love that daddy so much, than maybe you should remember who his master is."

Draco continues to shout insults as he walks away. Hadrian puts on his cloak and sinks into the darkness.

For a second he imagines apparating to the manor, biting and licking Thomas' neck, inhaling until the sense of calm and right relaxes his body.

"Hermione."

She's lying across his bed, feet kicking, with one of his Potions books a centimeter from her nose. "Your wards trust me."

"That shouldn't be how they operate."

"I'm pack now, remember?"

Hadrian stops. Raises his hand to the wall. The thrum of magic underneath zinges through his fingertips, relaying information like sonar. "I… okay."

Her eyebrows attempt to collide. She closes the book. "Did something happen?"

"You were waiting for _me_, right? What do _you_ want?"

Hermione narrows her eyes. "Viktor proposed."

A rock sinks down, deep into Hadrian's belly. "Fucking hell, Herm. What did you say?"

"Yes." She pulls her knees up to her chest and plays with the hem of her robes. "We're the perfect match, and he cares for me."

He swallows the dumpling in his throat. "He does."

"You don't have to tell me things you don't believe."

"I'm not lying."

She smiles. "It's hard; I know. You and Viktor have very similar personalities."

Hadrian turns to the runes along his wall. Traces the curls, lines, and squares, the latent magic tickling his finger. "I don't think he'll ever be as weak as me."

"Oh Hadrian." She takes his hands in hers. It's impossible to stare anywhere but her sincere brown eyes. "Do you feel this?"

He takes a moment, before the thrum of their connection beams to life. "It's warm."

"That's affection and _love_. They feel wonderful, don't they?"

Hadrian's head bangs against the wall, eyes clenched shut. "_Hermione_."

"Stop for just a second, Hads. Now what's this?" Another feeling jumps through the bond. It clenches around his heart, attempting to drag it deep into the earth. His head feels full of teddy bear intestines. His eyes sting. There must be pollen in the air.

"Look at me."

Hadrian keeps the dancing darkness and tries to push away the hand inside his throat. It's trying to force out sounds a man should never make. He won't do it.

Warm hands cup his face, thumbs sliding along his cheeks. "Will you do something for me? One last thing, I promise."

He nods. After that he'll be able to stop shaking on the inside.

"Reach inside your mindscape and find your bond to Minister Gaunt."

The flowers are overwhelming at first. They've gone from neat rows to overgrowth with flower petals soft under his bare feet. He bushwhacks off to the left. Wraps his hand around the warm woven rope of green and gold. It's silk and fit for a king.

"You found it?"

Who's here? Hermione. Hermione. Cousin. Friend. Packmate. "Yes."

"What does it make you feel?"

He tugs, and his heart pounds like an oil drum rolling down a mountain. Thomas' crooked smile flashes through his mind. A heat splurges down to Hadrian's toes, sexual and comforting all at once.

Right. Hermione. Hadrian pulls himself back into the real world, true colours seeming greyer, the surroundings wilted. Hermione smiles, red-cheeked and vibrant.

"Hadrian?"

"I -" He closes his mouth. What is there to say, really?

"It's okay, but when you can say it, I'm here."

o0o0o0o

**Alright everyone! HIATUS WARNING! Gonna be gone from writing until September. Maybe, just maybe, I'll get a chap out, but probs not. I had hoped to finish this story before then, alas, it was not to be. **

**Thank you to every amazing person that has been leaving comments/reviews! We hit 10,000 hits last chap and I could not be more proud:)**


	17. Judgement Day

DARK AND TWISTY

Chapter 17 - _Judgement Day_

**WARNING: **One use of the homophobic f-word. _And_ my idea of a court case is definitely not accurate.

The Great Hall is subdued at 7am on a Wednesday, filled with the smell of cooked meats, pastries, and coffee beans. McGonagall sips from her enlarged coffee cup, which appears humongous no matter how daintily she gulps it down every early morning.

"Professor Snape, may I talk with you?"

Snape raises an eyebrow, placing down his knife in the midst of buttering his toast. He nods. Hadrian raises his wand (though he could do it wandless) and casts a muffliato. McGonagall and Sinistra pretend not to watch the exchange.

"I was wondering if you needed any help with potions."

Snape's mouth twists into a smirk. "I always tell you when I do."

"I've been back at school for two weeks." Hadrian plops down in the empty chair beside him.

"You're quite important now, Mr. Potter. And Miss. Black's new boyfriend needed to be vetted." Snape says _important_ too much like Malfoy.

Hadrian inhales deeply, relaxing his tensed shoulders. "I enjoyed it, before." _I felt useful._

"As did I." Snape takes a slow sip of his tea. "I had just assumed you were now used to more scintillating company."

"You've always looked out for me, and I thank you for that, but hasn't our relationship become more like friendship in the last year?"

"Since when do you use words like friendship or thanks, Mr. Evans?"

"Hadrian."

Snape nods. "Out of students' and professors' sight you may call me Severus."

Which is something Snape has never offered before. "I'm trying again with the potion, this time with acromantula hair and basilisk venom."

"Your tastes have become more expensive." Sn-Severus picks up his knife again. "How will you account for the contamination in the acromantula hair?"

"A unicorn potion base." Hadrian glances around the table. Two others professors have joined the table since the chat began, and they aren't inclined to stop staring anytime soon. "Do you have time on Saturday to work on it?"

Severus nods.

Hadrian pulls his shoulders back and strides to the Slytherin table. It's fine, so now his stomach can stop twisting. The rotten feeling should dissipate.

His breakfast ritual is slow and precise. The counts of three and seven calm his nerves, until his breathing is even and he doesn't care about the professors' glances.

"The trial is today." Hermione slides in beside Hadrian. A slight glamour glimmers at one side of her neck. She reeks of Viktor's heavy, spicy cologne.

"Indeed."

"I'm proud of you."

Hadrian blinks. "What the fuck?"

"You decided to show everyone what a little shit your father is, the legal way. I appreciate it."

"You don't give a shit about legality."

"But the people do, and you'll be First Consort some day."

This topic is too uncomfortable. "You've been having fun." Hadrian's fingers skim the "injury."

She huffs and leans away. "Like your wrists aren't always a bit bruised."

He stiffens.

"No one can hear us, dork. I cast a muffliato before I sat down."

"Did you just call me a dork?"

"You deserved it, dork." Hermione pulls her back straight, gracefully spearing a boiled egg and placing it on her plate.

Hadrian spreads an even layer of marmalade onto his toast. He puts the knife down, his free hand playing a noiseless tune onto the table, _tap, tap, tap._

Hermione huffs. "Ask your question."

"You don't know the answer."

"One doesn't know until they _ask_." She plops a thick blob of apricot jam onto her pancake, then rolls it up and takes a dainty bite.

"Who is Ginevra dating?"

Hermione puts down the pancake. Turns to him, eyebrow raised. "Do you really want to know?"

Hadrian shifts in his seat, then straightens his posture. "We were friends."

"You were dating."

"I'm gay."

"That doesn't mean you didn't love her."

"Well, I've got Thomas now," or Thomas has Hadrian, "and I just… I was curious, is all."

Hermione bumps her knee against Hadrian's. "You should ask her yourself."

"What's different now?" Hadrian steadies himself. He would like to remember the second half of sixth year as a wonderful time, but his chest aches at the memory, three letters sent to Ginevra at Beauxbatons, all unanswered.

"A lot of things, namely, neither of you listen to your fucked-up parents anymore." Hermione says _fucked-up_ like it's the pureblood word for salad fork.

"There's more than that." Gin and Hads had been a couple for more reasons than parental satisfaction.

She smiles. "That's the spirit. I'll help you start the letter: _Dear Ginevra_. There. I'm such a help, aren't I?"

Hadrian can't stop a quirk of his lips, though he stifles a laugh. "Thanks, Herm."

o0o0o0o

Magical cameras flash, reporters leaning forward from the press section. Lily Potter stares from the front row into the balcony where the Minister and the Cabinet sit. Hadrian stares back.

Her long red hair falls limp nearly to the waist of her robes, large eyes makeup-less and smudged below with purple and wrinkles. Red lips twist into a smile Hadrian has never seen before.

The courtroom whispers from every corner as James saunters into the room. An auror escorts him from each side, their faces grim and sour. It would be hard to watch one of your own being prosecuted… They're going to regret getting up this morning if they are involved.

"Silence in the courtroom." Judge Wallace says, her voice amplified by a sonorus. She's a small, imposing woman with dark features and a set jaw. She lifts her chin.

The aurors drag James forward until he's in the middle of the room, raised on a podium for all to see and judge. James' eyes narrow on Hadrian.

Hadrian's stomach twists, and he lets himself sneer. Thomas' hand curls around his thigh, bleeding warmth into Hadrian's body.

More than a few people have looked at Hadrian with curiosity in the moments they were waiting for the accused. Thomas will make an announcement soon about their relationship, after Hadrian has graduated.

Hadrian had tried not squirm when Thomas had told him that.

"James Potter. You're accused of attempted murder of your son by blood, Hadrian Evans, and fifty documented cases of corruption. How do you plead?"

James grins, looking like an errant Hogwarts student despite his softer middle. He thinks he'll get out of this.

"Not guilty."

The crowd bursts into whispers, but is almost immediately silenced by Judge Wallace's raised hand.

"The defense may now present their case."

A man named Aaron Richards steps forward, a slick-haired, slimy smiling attorney James has had over for dinner more than once. He spins a tale of corruption (all on the other side, of course), of wrong time wrong place situations, of James being cornered by his delinquent son, of acting in self defense.

And people believe it. They glance at Hadrian and Thomas with curiosity, doubt. Their faces screw up the more that Richards talks.

Judge Wallace smiles small when Richard finally finishes. "Because of the large status of this case, and the importance of justice everywhere, but especially among the aurors themselves, James Potter will now be given the standard dose of V2 serum and asked to confirm this story."

James pales. His eyes flicker in every direction. V2 is newly legalized, highly controlled veritaserum that cannot be overruled by practice. Its use in trials is not taken lightly.

"Your honour." Richards' face has gone tight. "James has not given permission for this drug to be administered."

Judge Wallace smiles larger. "According the 1992 Act of Autonomy and Consent, in federal cases of attempted or committed first degree murder or any form of rape V2 serum can be administered without consent given from the accused."

Richards' nostrils flare. He steps over to James, whispering in his ear as a court worker brings forward the vial with a slightly raised arm. The potion is a lightning bright yellow, emanating its own light bright enough to make it difficult to stare at for long.

Hadrian leans closer to Thomas. Thomas' hands curls into Hadrian's, strengthening the feelings of _satisfaction, confidence, alertness._

Thomas' inner circle, all high-ranking members of the Ministry, are a solid force on the balcony. They calmly survey, though Bellatrix' eyes gleam bright.

A thumb strokes along Hadrian's knuckles. No one can protest the potion. Everyone is watching. James' tactics are for shadowed corners and scared people, not for brightly lit courtrooms.

James tried to keep his mouth closed. The court worker simply nods at the auror to James' left, and the auror casts a spell that transfers the potion into James' stomach.

The audience quiets, all anticipating the first question. Lily's chin is up, eyes fixed on her husband.

"James Potter, state the name of your parents." Judge Wallace commands.

James' eyes cloud. He stares straight ahead. "Charles and Dorea Potter."

"Baseline established."

The crowd leans forward.

"Mr. Potter, did you attempt to kill Hadrian Evans on 27th of February?"

"Yes."

"Why did you do so?"

"Because he was being a fucking faggot."

Hadrian controls his breathing, his face, his body. James' dull eyes search the crowd. He smirks when he finds Hadrian. If this trial doesn't go how Thomas said it would, Hadrian will pull James' throat out with his teeth.

Judge Wallace pauses, and the crowd hushes for her next question. "Explain that statement, please."

"He got invited to the graduate party because he's fucking the Minister."

Thomas removes his hand from Hadrian's. The faintest flicker of light appears between his waving hands.

Judge Wallace's eyes narrow. "As a statement for the listeners, I have a document here that proves Hadrian was the highest ranked seventh-year Hogwarts student and deserved to be invited to the gala." She ignores the murmurs of the crowd. "Mr. Potter, in how many cases have you ignored Ministry law?"

James smirks. "More time than I can count."

"Send him to Azkaban!" A third of civilians jump to their feet, yelling far more expletive accusations.

Judge Wallace quiets them with a raised hand. She signals a court worker. He presses his wand to a bright green button. Hadrian can still hear everything, but for the normal magicals, their voices will only carry as far as their neighbor.

"Mr. Richards, can you offer us any information that would lessen Mr. Potter's sentence?"

Richards' suitcase explodes over the desk, all his papers hitting the ground. He stutters unintelligibly.

When he does find his voice, he manages a "the lawyer would not like to comment at this time."

"That's a line celebrities use for the press." Thomas' voice is laced with humour. His hand curls around Hadrian's knee.

Hadrian leans back in his chair, relaxing his shoulders. His hand slips into Thomas'. A lazy spiral of bright pink and yellow fills his vision. Spiced pears explode like pop rocks on his tongue and a warm feeling alights in his belly.

The trial loses a bit of importance.

"James Potter, for aiding and abetting murders, rapes, attacks, and for committing treason against your country's laws, you are sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban."

James blinks away the dullness, his face twisting into _something_ that signals Hadrian to get out. That _something_ means _I'm going to yell, push you around, hit - if I'm drunk enough._

Judge Wallace spits out the necessary legalise to adjourn the trial.

Lily waves widely from across the atrium, incongruous with the gossips and the somber citizens. There's nothing silly about a trial like this.

Hadrian could turn away. The Minister and his entourage always exit first.

He turns to Thomas, whose gaze is fixed solely on Hadrian. "My mother wants to talk with me."

Thomas nods. His thumb burns across Hadrian's knuckles. He gestures one of his security guards close and whispers a sentence. The man makes his way through the aisles.

More than a few eyes watch Lily Potter walk (escorted) to the Minister's balcony.

She shakes when she reaches them. Thomas raises a hand to keep her quiet.

"_I need to return to the office._" Thomas hisses.

Hadrian eyes Lily from head to toe. Her teeth grind, the sound obnoxious in his ears. "_Take the aurors with you._"

"_Half._"

"_All_."

"_You know the signal._"

It would be wonderful to kiss Thomas goodbye, but Hadrian has to be satisfied with a brush of their fingers, and the _want_ that mirrors back and forth across the bond.

Hadrian holds his hand out to Lily. She takes it.

Magic squeezes their bodies through apparition tubes. Hadrian bends his knees slightly and lands on his feet, victorious against a wave of nausea.

"Harry, I'm so sorry! For everything I said before." She falls to his feet. Her hands clasp together like she's praying, her wrists reedy and breakable.

Hadrian kneels down before her. Their last meeting had been hurts and threats, but she's so small like this. Tears roll down her thin cheeks.

"Look at me, Ma."

Lily blinks at him. He drops the glamour.

"You know I didn't mean it! You'll always be my son, no matter what creature you are."

Hadrian slowly places his hands on hers, unlinking the prayer. When was the last time he touched her first? "You let James hurt me all my life, and you've never done anything to stop it."

She sobs.

Hadrian ignores the way his heart tugs and tightens his grip. "So what's the plan, Ma? Distract me, gain access to the manor… what are you going to do next?"

Lily's eyebrows raise.

"I'm not dumb. Neither is Thomas."

The same, odd smile stretches across her lips. "Harry, my boy, I'm so sorry you've fallen down this path."

He grabs her wrist, apparating into the cellar. His magic heeds his wishes, green tendrils wrapping around her extremities. Metal cuffs clasp around her hands. Lily's feet are flat on the ground, but he could hang her by her arms if he wanted.

Hadrian tugs the chain.

She swallows. "Harry, please!" Wide green eyes pin him down. When Hadrian was five, Lily used to bathe him with magical bubbles that weren't confined to shape or colour. She would hum under her breath, enjoying a simpler time.

He lets himself laugh. It's easy to activate the veritaserum, to watch the near invisible cloud sink down from above her head.

"Who are you?"

"Lily Potter." She says between struggles. Lily stills for a moment, her face slackening. "Albus Dumbledore."

A chill slings down Hadrian's spine. The smell of burning flesh rises up from memory. "How are you two people?"

"Harry, my boy," That same stupid smile. "Your mother offered me the use of her body until our cause has won."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Hadrian's wand twirls in his fingers. If Dumbledore was in another body, he'd be under cruciatus.

A shrill laugh bubbles from Lily's throat. "My soul can cling to the earth."

Hadrian steps back. This can't be the end goal. It would be idiotic to leave himself so open to attack. What's the point of Dumbledore entering the manor?

"You've become even more beautiful since we last met, darling."

Hadrian's turns, shoulders tensed. Al, the oldest vampire, steps into the door frame, cherry red eyes glinting in the torch light.

Hadrian cocks his head. "What did he promise you?" Drawing his wand would start a duel. It's not time for that yet.

"I'm over 1,000 years old, young one. I don't have a master." Al steps into Hadrian's space, smirking. His skin is so chalky, it looks like it will rub off with the brush of a thumb. "And now I have time with _you."_

"I'm bonded to Minister Gaunt." Hadrian says, low and authoritative.

"Doesn't mean you can't have a bit of fun with me."

Al reaches for Hadrian's wrist, seeming surprised when Hadrian steps out of the way, plants his hands on Al's chest and _pushes_.

The stone wall crumbles at the entrance of Al's body. The vampire snarls, shoulders pulled high, fists clenched beside his sides as regains his stance.

Hadrian smiles. "I would say you look beautiful like this, but that would be a lie."

"Surely someone can eclipse your bondmate." Al begins to circle.

"No one." Then Hadrian disapparates. Something crashes into him; an arm squeezes hard around his belly.

He appears in the Minister's office and struggles to throw Al off of his body. His magic explodes in a burst of green, and the vampire goes flying once again. For a thousand-year-old vampire, Al seems pretty awful at fighting.

There's no one in the office.

Hadrian throws out his magic in all directions. It curls away from him, searching for any hint of Thomas. It's a hard stretch around the Ministry's many corridors, past lifeless beings whose souls are not attached to his.

It takes him an age of fruitless search to feel the long, chalky fingers around his throat, the floatiness of having his feet kicking in the air. Al's eyes narrow, and his grip tightens.

Hadrian doesn't need air, but he does need to concentrate enough to find Thomas.

He pushes Al away again, but this time the vampire lands a metre away, skids another metre, and dashes forward. Muggle methods won't work anymore.

Hadrian thrusts his magic forward, concentrated entirely into one task: stop Al. Al's eyes flood green, his skin turning bright like sunshine. His scream tears through the walls.

The magic tangles further into Al's body, until ropes of emerald green slither their way around every piece of skin. The bindings suffocate over his face. He falls to the floor, and the ropes pin him there.

Hadrian's feet throw him metres forward at a time, he strides down the hallways, through the atrium, bursting through any walls or doors that stand in his way. Thomas' end of the bond feel numb, like an ear about to be pierced.

His instincts tug him down into the Department of Mysteries. Spells blaze around the big hall like errant fireworks. The room seems mute for a moment, until a scream hits the highest register.

Thomas stands in the middle of it all, knees bent in the perfect combat stance. His wand combats every thrown spell for three, until it's just aimed colours. But there are too many opponents.

Hadrian stuns a redhead - Mrs. Weasley, whose duelling style is just as offensive as the way she treats her children.

A wand presses against his throat. "Don't move."

The spells cease. Thomas turns to Hadrian and takes a step forward. Thomas is pale and wide-eyed in the dim hallway light, a mysterious creature with glittering deep red eyes.

"You think you can get here faster than I can rip open Mr. Potter's throat?"

"We're forever, us three. Making such an enemy of us was never a good choice." Thomas' eyes skim around the situation.

"You think that matters, boy? I've been on this earth longer than any other creature. You made yourself immortal, but I've always been the First."

Thomas laughs, loud and harsh. His attackers step forward, circling like sharks.

"My son's in jail because of _you_." Arther Weasley hisses, flanked by his two oldest sons.

Fangs press against Hadrian's neck, resting there, not yet drawing blood. "You can give up, you know. Let me have him, and you can continue your rule."

Hadrian is not a slave to be bought and sold. This moment isn't allowed to stand. Hadrian slams the back of his head into Al, enough of a surprise to be released. Hot blood slimes out of his stinging jugular.

He punches forward, holding Al up by the neck and slamming him against a pillar. Al struggles, but Hadrian still has surprise on his side.

Blood fills his mouth, old and laden with power. Hadrian sucks it all down, past the point of taste, until he wants to gag. Thomas' attackers scream out spells to his right, but Thomas doesn't lose battles.

Al's body falls to the stone floor. Limbs limp and colour grey. He'll regenerate soon enough…

Flames eat around Hadrian's fingertips. He kneels down, presses his hands to Al's throat and side. Papery skin bubbles, darkens, and curls up with the heat.

The heat strengthens without Hadrian needing to ask. His magic consumes without a thought, until the scent of burning flesh fills the room, and Al begins to turn to ash.

Then all that's left of the First is a bit of dust, and Hadrian burns that too.

"You did wonderful, love." Thomas' fingers trace from Hadrian's forehead to his jaw.

Hadrian turns. An almost perfect circle of stunned bodies marks where Thomas once stood. "Lily's chained in the basement. Part of Dumbledore's inside of her."

"Dirty." Thomas says, but his eyes narrows. His hands curl around Hadrian's waist, and he lifts him to his feet. "We can deal with that later. Your plan was very effective."

The compliment doesn't help the shakiness of Hadrian's breaths. He lifts his chin. "Knowingly walking into a trap isn't much of a plan."

"We entered it on our terms." Thomas leads him to the elevator. Stepping in is a breath of a relief.

"Has the Ministry of Secrets always blocked bonds?"

"Yes." Thomas presses close, nose nudging along Hadrian's throat. "After I talk to the aurors…"

Hadrian hums. Their bond warms his insides.

The aurors need ages of paperwork and carefully worded statements before they let them go, so when Hadrian and Thomas finally apparate home, Hadrian's dick has been hard for an hour.

Thomas' finger burns a line down Hadrian's cheek. He swallows and squirms. Blue eyes fade to a deep red, and Hadrian closes his mouth to stop the onslaught of saliva - mate, lover, blood.

Hadrian surges forward, pressing his mouth against Thomas. The kiss turns sloppy, and Hadrian pushes his tongue against Thomas', the slide a heat that twists down into his stomach. He can't help rocking his hips forward. Hadrian curls one arm around Thomas' neck and the other around his waist, trying to _control. _

Thomas' eyes are bright, a smirk pulls at one corner of his lips, fingers burning a path down Hadrian spine, around his hip, down inner thigh.

Thomas' back hits mattress. Hadrian climbs over him, spreading his thighs around Thomas' waist. He lowers himself down to his forearms and thrusts forward.

Thomas' hands tighten around his hips. Their cocks press together through robes.

"What do you want, love?"

The question halts Hadrian's movements. What does he want? He presses a kiss to the sharpest point of Thomas' cheekbone, then licks the scales on his neck. Thomas' glamour is falling.

Hadrian has always wanted more control in life, now all he wants to do is give it up. He sighs, rolls off Thomas and onto his back. His fangs have slid out sometime during his arousal. Hadrian tries to control his breathing.

Thomas climbs over him, thumbs sliding from Hadrian's forehead to his mouth.

Hadrian sucks one of Thomas' fingers, the taste salty and _powerful_. He wants to lick the magic from Thomas' bones, to see everything Thomas' has ever been.

Something rough slides along Hadrian's neck. He blinks upwards.

"Colour, love?" Thomas slowly untangles the rope. It transfigures in his hands like a snake, wiggling from rough cords to taut silk.

Hadrian holds his hands out. "Bright green."

Thomas ties Hadrian's hands to the bed frame. Hadrian's night shirt stretches over his stomach, revealing a thin line of skin. Thomas doesn't hesitate to trace it, dipping just slightly into the pajama pants.

Hadrian's hips cant forward. "Please -"

A finger roughly sweeps across his lower lip. "I've got you."

Hadrian closes his eyes, relishing in the feelings pounding through their bond: warmth, contentment, and the burning in his lower belly. Being on top of Thomas had been a momentary flame, but this is so much better.

Thomas' arm snakes around Hadrian's lower back, making him arch up. Thomas holds most of Hadrian's weight, all Hadrian can do is squirm.

A nose traces up from Hadrian's hem, dragging it up to his collarbones. A deep chuckle sends a pulse to Hadrian's dick, the vibration reverberating off of his skin.

Wet heat encloses around a nipple. Hadrian groans. He's aching hard, burning up from his feelings and Thomas'. It's overwhelming and so so wonderful.

Thomas' teeth nip into him, hard. The scent of Hadrian's hybrid blood fills his nostrils, rust, magic, and _creature_. The wound Al caused is easily replaced.

A rough tongue pulls along from Hadrian's belly button to the aching nipple. The rope tries to chafe Hadrian's wrists as he struggles, but no one can pierce his skin but Thomas.

"Thomas please." Hadrian breathes. Did he speak those words or think them?

Thomas seems to know what he wants, because his arm slides up to Hadrian's neck, fingers sliding into Hadrian's hair. Lips press against Hadrian's. A tongue enters, conquers, burns along every part of the mouth it can slide against.

Their bodies press together. Thomas' hips bracket Hadrian's. Forehead against Hadrian's, Thomas rolls his hips forward. Their dicks slide together, and it's pure bliss and friction. Thomas' arms are wrapped around Hadrian's back.

He controls the pace, the heat, and he's decided now is the time to get off. Thomas swings his leg up and over, looming over the bed, walking around it to see Hadrian from every angle.

And Hadrian can't stop himself from showing every bit of want he's ever felt for Thomas.

Thomas smiles and curls his hand around Hadrian's calf, like he did in the Hospital Wing just a couple of months before.

While the lust had been strong before, now Hadrian feels _everything_.

"I'm never going to get bored with you." Thomas says, and he _means_ it.

Hadrian blinks away the… allergies. "I… _Thomas_. I've never." There's no amount of dignity, of hiding he can do when he's strapped to the bed.

Thomas' hand tightens. "Colour?"

Hadrian inhales deeply. "Yellow."

"What do you want me to do, love?"

Hadrian breaks the restraints himself, a fierce burst of magic that sends bits of rope bouncing off the walls. He swings his legs over the bed, breaking the line of contact. No amount of deep breaths seem to calm his rabbit-beating heart.

He turns to Thomas. "Hold me down and fuck me like you mean it."

Thomas smiles, slowly approaches. His thumbs skim along Hadrian's cheekbones. He lifts Hadrian's chin up. "You know how I feel."

Hadrian swallows and fidgets.

"You don't want me to tell you." Thomas pushes Hadrian back onto the bed.

Hadrian cocks his head to the side. The sentence rings inside his head, "_I'm never going to get bored with you_," like a mockery. Like Hadrian will never be strong enough to say something like that.

"You're never going to let me go to Norway."

"Not by yourself." Thomas smiles again, and his eyes shine with it. He slowly drags his hands up Hadrian's torso, flicking his nipples.

Hadrian groans. Lifts his arms. Thomas throws the shirt across the room.

A calloused thumb slides along Hadrian's collarbone, then follows his happy trail down… Thomas skims over the waistband of Hadrian's soft cotton pants.

Hadrian rips his own pants off, sliding his hands around Thomas' neck and pulls him down for a heated kiss. Their tongues tangle.

Thomas grabs Hadrian's wrists, holding them with one hand above Hadrian's head. He flattens his other hand on Hadrian's abdomen. Hadrian tries in vain to thrust his hips forward, cock hard and aching.

Sharp points skim across Hadrian's neck. He turns his head to the side. Thomas bites into the skin, not enough to draw blood, but the heat in Hadrian's belly grows hotter.

Hadrian pants. He can't get enough air, though he doesn't need it.

Thomas licks at the wound, his hips beginning a slow rhythm. His cock slides along Hadrian's thigh.

"_Please_."

Thomas flips them. Curls his arms around Hadrian's waist and draws him up to his hands and knees. The telltale sound of rustling clothing makes Hadrian squirm, but he stays put, his cock dripping onto the sheets.

A finger breeches him. Hadrian twitches, then pushes back against it. One by one, four well-lubed fingers curl into Hadrian's hole. He pants. The colours and feelings are vicious, biting around his heart and belly. He _groans_.

"Now, love, colour?"

"Green."

Thomas pushes in without further warning. Hadrian nearly falls onto his face. He's so _full._ Thomas' dick is hot and thick inside him.

Their connection grows impossibly bright, like it's a supernova about to explode.

Thomas bottoms out, hands running along Hadrian's chest, across sharp hip bones and collarbones, taking in every heaving breath.

Hadrian's hands curl into the soft satiny sheets. They rip loudly. He pushes back into Thomas. "_Move._"

"As you wish." Thomas thrusts forward. Hadrian loses his grip at the spike of _ugh_, falling face first into the sheets.

Thomas curls his fingers into Hadrian's, holding him still as he thrusts again, finding a quick, unyielding pace. Hadrian's gasps echo through the room. He's so _hot. _

It's impossible to pay attention to any one sensation. Lust, love, and want echoes across their connection. Thomas hits a spot of nerves on each thrust, and Hadrian is torn between pulling away or pushing back. And the way Thomas talks…

Thomas doesn't _say_ anything, but images spring across the bond. Thomas loves how Hadrian looks, how he feels, how connected they are. He loves eternity, and having someone to spend it with.

And there's nothing to do but take it. Hadrian couldn't stop the stereotypical sex noises if he tried, the groans, moans, and pants.

He falls flat onto the bed, and Thomas just holds him down and continues. A ball of heat begins to grow in Hadrian's lower stomach, sinking down his spine, mocking at what's to come.

One of Thomas' hands remain steady, while the other explores, sparking down the knobs of Hadrian's spine, scratching through his hair, and rubbing along his shoulders.

o0o0o0o

Hadrian stares into a bookshelf, the titles bleeding together the longer he sits at the library table. What do you get for the man who has everything? Who invents to fill the country's needs and passes laws to make it better, easier for minorities?

His eyes squeeze shut. He tugs at his hair hard, then collapses his head into his arms, the wood desk warm and rough, worn in by Thomas' excessive study habits.

He pulls out a blank piece of parchment, letting his quill drip ink until there's fat droplets of deep black obscuring at least a fourth of the page.

But they're… forever, aren't they? Thomas always talks like that. Hadrian… is starting to believe him.

"Hello, Hadrian." Ginevra smiles brightly, all teeth, though her eyes stay blank. She stands in the doorway, a tiny figure in a silk green dress that barely reaches her thighs, yet somehow fills the room. Her presence has always been large.

He stands and nods. Gestures to the seat across from him and turns the parchment over.

She twists a perfectly styled red ringlet around her finger. Seats herself daintily. "I've got a date in an hour."

That explains the dramatic smokey eye and deep red lipstick. Hadrian straightens. Ginevra taught him too much about makeup.

"You gonna talk?"

Hadrian chuckles. "Eventually I'll have to. You know how I get, Gin. Always stuck in my own head."

She blinks at him. "We're back to nicknames now?" Her voice is low and sultry.

"Only if you'd like."

She shrugs. "What do you want, Hadrian?"

"I just wanted to ask about you. Did you get the money for 7th year?"

Ginevra's nostrils flare. "My parents have decided to use every bit of clout they have to blackball me from financial aid."

"Would you accept the tuition from me?"

She pauses. Taps a perfectly manicured red fingernail on her chin. "What's the catch?"

"_Gin_." The rock in his chest grows.

"You want to continue what James started, get me out of town?"

"Don't you want to go back to Beauxbatons?"

She eyes him carefully. "Yes."

"Than what's the fucking problem?"

"This your money or the Minister's?" Ginevra leans back in her chair, perusing the bookshelf above Hadrian's head.

"Mine."

She slaps her hands on the table. Hadrian barely restrains a flinch.

"Why, Hadrian? People don't do things like that for free."

"Is it so hard to believe that I want you to be happy? Don't you remember sixth year?"

"You're not sixth-year Hadrian, and I'm not fifth-year Ginny. Give me a good reason, and I'll accept it."

Hadrian stands. Paces to the right, then paces back to his seat and plops down. "I'm part vampire, basilisk, fae, human, and werewolf now."

She drops the casual act. "What?"

"You always understand what it was like to be a creature. We're not ordinary wizards. I just wanted to… open the line of communication again." He inhales deeply. "And if I pay for your tuition, you have to answer my letters."

"You've certainly gotten more frank." Ginevra stands, sauntering around the table. "Show me."

Hadrian swallows as he rises. He tucks his chin to look her directly in the eye. Heat spreads over his face, fangs slicking from his gums. His glamour snaps.

"My, what lovely ears you have." A soft finger traces the point.

Hadrian holds her gaze and squares his shoulders.

She smiles and steps back. "I accept your offer."

o0o0o0o

**Being the amazing person I am, I had a mental breakdown this summer, deleted my archive account and FF stories, and thought I was never coming back. **

**But I didn't lose them completely. This November I started writing again and re-found my passion (and my stories were safely tucked in the FF doc manager). **

**Unfortunately, the weekly updates won't be happening again. I'm hoping for once a month. I have a full-time job now (adult, whoo hoo) and need to remember to take care of myself in between working.**

**You all are lovely! Thank you so much for everybody's support!**


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